


Into the Fray

by miss_aphelion



Series: The Boy From District One [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Arranged Marriage, Attempted Rape, BAMF!Charles, Bamf!Erik, Character Death, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:25:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_aphelion/pseuds/miss_aphelion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year, two alphas are chosen from each district for a fight to death, and every year, a single omega is chosen to join them in the arena as the prize. </p>
<p>Erik Lehnsherr's name has been drawn to compete as an alpha tribute and he is set solely on survival, but he hadn't exactly counted on Charles, the mysterious omega tribute that isn't playing by any of the rules. Hunger Games AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Into the Fray (Traducción)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7903144) by [CherikMcbender (SlashShips)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlashShips/pseuds/CherikMcbender), [miss_aphelion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_aphelion/pseuds/miss_aphelion)



> This was written for a prompt on X-Men First Kink: [see prompt here](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/8074.html?thread=16490122). I will be posting here in parts as I get it edited.

  


_The Capital of Genosha was a gleaming, pretty place._

_It had risen like a shining beacon, up out of the chaos that the world had been before. There had been centuries of peace, of simple living, as the 13 Districts around the Capital toiled at their tasks._

_And for centuries no one saw the Capital that was not born to it. It was like a fairytale of old—filled up with castle spires and elaborate costumes that were exquisite beyond the telling. Less than five hundred miles away and it was turning to myth._

_Myths, however, are rarely left unchallenged. Soon the districts were rising up in rebellion, and there was war. All of Genosha was nearly lost to the petty demands of the districts, but the Capital prevailed at last, though they had to carve District 13 straight out to do it. It lay in ruin still today, as a warning to the rest to behave._

_But a single warning would not be enough. The leaders of the Capital knew all too well their tenuous hold over the districts, outnumbered as they were. The Capital had lost many lives during the war, and they needed to increase both their number and power if they were to hold to their victory._

_It was decided then, as both a punishment to the districts, and in aid of themselves, they would round up all the omegas in the districts to assign them to alphas within the Capital. After all, omegas were far too valuable to be wasted on the districts, with their laborers and their poverty._

_Some felt this was more than punishment enough, but the most brilliant among them realized they would adapt. If they were not allowed omegas, they would learn to live without them. The key to control came in two parts: fear and hope._

_And so the Alpha Games were begun, and offered them both._

* * * * *

It all started with the sound of his name.

He almost didn't recognize it as his own, considering the dulcet Capital accent that had spoken it. Those around him had gone silent, watching to see what he would do—what he had done was disconnect. 

As a consequence the last week has gone by in a blur. The clearest memory he has is not that Capital puppet calling his name, but the sound of his mother's voice. She had been crying as they pulled her out the door, their three minutes for goodbye up: Alles ist gut, Erik, alles ist gut. 

He had decided then and there that he was coming home, though he was not one of those alphas that were looking forward to the opportunity to participate in the Games. Some were known to even volunteer, because to be a victor meant fame, money, and more importantly, it meant bonding with an omega. 

None of this matters in the least to Erik. He will fight and he will live—he cannot afford to imagine the afterwards. He focuses all his attention instead on surviving the Games, the rules of which, at least, were simple enough. 

Two alphas, between the ages of sixteen and twenty-one, are chosen from each district to compete. As an incentive, a single omega tribute is also chosen from a pool of all the districts to be the prize—though omegas are only entered into the drawing once, on the year they come of age at eighteen. 

Omegas are not allowed to remain in their district after that. Their name is either chosen for that year's game or they are taken to the Capital to be assigned an alpha. Despite only being in a single drawing, the odds weren't more in favor of omegas than alphas. Erik recalls hearing there were only fourteen omegas coming of age this year from all twelve districts. A one in fourteen chance. 

Erik's name had been pulled out of hundreds, and he only had two reapings left. But then, the odds have never seemed in his favor. 

If he had been born to another district, perhaps some overeager alpha with something to prove might have volunteered in his place. Those at District 12 had little use for the Games, and the only person Erik suspects might actually want to be in them had been called right before him: Sebastian Shaw. 

Sebastian Shaw is a despicable human being and Erik is nothing but grateful for it. It will make it so much easier when the time comes to kill him. Shaw will be dependent on getting weapons from the stash, on gifts from sponsors, and it will make him weak. Erik has never been good with people. He knows he cannot count on outside support, and relying only on himself simplifies things greatly. 

His mentor, Azazel, had tried to get him to ingratiate himself to the citizens of Genosha to gain sponsors, but had given up on him quickly to favor his fellow tribute, who had the slick nature needed to play to the audience. Erik had just barely made it through his interviews, rarely giving an answer that consisted of more than two words. 

Now, as he rises up through the tube into the sunlight, he is comforted by the fact that the only thing he needs to worry about is staying alive. 

Azazel has warned him that his best defense will be to disappear. If Erik listens to nothing else, he will listen to this. As all of the alphas around him prepare to spring forward, towards the large Cornucopia in the center, where supplies and weapons have been piled in a heap, but Erik glances back. He can see the edge of the woods not twenty feet behind him, and he knows he can make it there quick enough. No one will chase him now with greater prizes waiting. 

Erik turns then to glance at the Cornucopia, and that's when he sees him. 

They've put the omega tribute with the supplies, like a lamb to the slaughter. The drawing for the omegas is done the night before the Games while the alpha tributes are meant to be asleep, so none of them get to witness it or see the omega beforehand. Still, Erik doesn't know why he's surprised that he's beautiful, because all the ones he's ever seen have been. Maybe that's just how omegas look, or maybe only the beautiful ones ever have their names come up. 

Of course, it's supposed to be chance. Erik remembers seeing the omega reapings in the past, as the viewing is mandatory in the districts. All the omegas for that year's drawing are sent to the Capital for one of them to be chosen in a grand ceremony, all dressed up and placed in a line—and then the 'winner' is unceremoniously tossed into the Games while the rest of the omegas get married off one by one. 

This year's winner has been dressed in a soft jacket and pants colored so lightly blue that it's nearly white, in stark contrast to the black worn by the rest of them. Up close it would be impossible to mistake an omega for an alpha by the scent alone, but they always made sure the omega stood out to keep anyone from targeting him at a distance by accident. 

The omega pushes himself to his feet beside the supplies, and Erik can see he's not on a timed disk himself. The rest of them will be blown to bits if they move before the start, but they can't risk an omega blowing himself up, and it makes no difference really, because he's got nowhere to run. The alpha tributes surround him in a wide circle like a net. If he starts running now, he'll only be even closer to them once they're free. 

They've done it on purpose. The citizens of the Capital always find it more entertaining when the omega is captured first thing, passed off one to another as the alphas take each other out. The Gamemakers are nothing if not obliging, they do their best to ensure a good show. 

The omega knows it, too. His blue eyes are wide and scared but clear and assessing all the same, and he's glancing around at each of the alphas to find a weak point to break through. But they've left no openings. 

The one advantage he has is that he's surrounded by the supplies and the weapons, but it's an empty concession on behalf of the Gamemakers. The omegas are never given any training on how to use them—because they aren't meant to get away. 

There's a click as the countdown hits zero and everyone starts running towards the supplies, and towards the omega. Only a few break off for the woods, but Erik is one of them, and he backs up slowly, keeping track of the others as he moves in the opposite direction. 

The omega doesn't move at all. At first Erik thinks he misjudged him, that maybe he isn't thinking as clearly as he had believed, or maybe he's just given up. He just stands there glancing at his feet as they all come rushing towards him. Erik keeps moving, but he can't help looking back. 

His eyes find the omega again just in time to see the him reach out to pick up a large metal ball from the pile of weapons, and slam it down hard onto the roof of the Cornucopia. 

Then the whole world goes white with sound and light.

* * * * *

When Erik next opens his eyes, his vision is blurred. He can hear screaming coming from somewhere, terrified cries that break off unnaturally. His eyesight comes back quickly, though, and eventually focuses enough for him to see the bloodbath taking place at the Cornucopia.

Erik lets out a slightly hysterical laugh when he realizes the omega is nowhere in sight. His first instinct was right after all—he was definitely clever. Whatever the hell that thing had been, he had obviously known exactly what it would do and used it to his advantage. 

And an omega outsmarting all twenty-four alpha tributes in the first minute of the game? It's so impressive he bets the Gamemakers aren't even too upset that he's gotten away. It has to be a first. 

He'll be running now. There's no way for an omega to win the Games—their only strategy was to not be caught until it was over. 

Erik plans to do something rather similar. He forces himself to his feet, and his ears are still ringing, but he manages to stumble forward. There is a dead tribute a few feet away with a backpack lying beside her. Erik reaches out and grabs the pack, and then he runs for the trees. 

He can barely manage a straight line, but he's right that no one bothers to chase him down. He moves through the trees, breathing a little easier the farther inside he gets. He needs to search for water, and check to see what supplies he's managed to get, but instead he finds himself dropping to the forest floor. His head is still pounding from the omega's weapon, and he doesn't think he'll make it much further without rest. 

He's leaning up against the trunk of a tree, trying to compose himself, when something slices across his upper arm. Erik is spinning around and on his feet before he can even think, one hand grabbing and pulling away the outstretched gun and the other clamping around his assailant's neck to slam him against the closest tree. 

Erik sucks in a startled breath when he realizes just whom it is he's pinned. He's torn between the insane urge to press forward and kiss him, and the urge to get as far away from him as he can. His hand is tingling where he touches him, and he abruptly lets go, stumbling back a foot, still holding the stolen weapon in his hand. 

"I could have killed you," Erik snarls. 

The omega stares back at him defiantly, obviously confused by his actions. "You're from District 12," he says, instead of the expected apology. "Erik Lehnsherr." 

At first Erik wonders how he knows, and then realizes of course he knows. Alpha tributes don't get to see the omega reaping, but Erik's been all over the news for a week. "Yes," he says. "I would have thought you'd made it farther into the woods than this considering that head start you got." 

The omega looks like he's about to say something, but he stops himself. Erik frowns, adjusting his grip on the omega's gun and running his eyes over the backpack he's wearing. He'd apparently grabbed quite a few things before he ran—definitely smart, so why had he stopped this close to the clearing instead of going deeper in? 

"What's your name?" Erik asks after a moment, when it's clear he's not going to volunteer any further information.

"Charles," he says warily.

Erik can see him judging the distances between them, trying to gauge his chances of running. One of his hands goes to rub absentmindedly at his throat, and his skin has reddened where Erik had grabbed him. It'll probably bruise, and he feels suddenly so guilt ridden and worried that he nearly makes himself sick staying where he is. 

"I'm not going to apologize," Erik says stiffly, even though he feels like he should. Instead Erik traces the bloody graze on his arm, relieved to find that while his sleeve is torn it's not nearly as bad as he'd feared. "After all, you were trying to kill me." 

"It wouldn't have killed you," Charles says, sounding offended. "It was only a tranquilizer dart." 

Erik frowns and looks at the gun, and sure enough it's loaded with darts instead of bullets. "Why do they even have a tranquilizer gun?" Erik asks incredulously, looking at it in disbelief. It seems a rather pointless weapon in a fight to the death.

"It was meant for someone to use on me," Charles says quietly. 

Erik understands instantly, and he wonders if maybe that was why out of all those weapons, it was the one that Charles had chosen to take. There weren't many weapons provided that could be used against him. No alpha wanted damaged goods.

A lot of people thought that omegas had it easy in the Games just because they wouldn't be killed, but Erik had never thought so. The alphas at least had a chance, something to fight for. All Charles could do was put off the inevitable—he would belong to one of them eventually, and there were any number of horrible things that could be done to him in the meantime. 

Erik reaches out to give the gun back without another word. Charles looks completely baffled, but he doesn't hesitate to snatch it back. "Thanks," he says after a moment, obviously unsure what to make of him. 

Erik can understand his confusion. An alliance between an omega and an alpha within the arena is not unheard of; in fact it's quite common. Omegas often bargained themselves away in exchange for protection, but an alliance where an alpha asks for nothing in return? Erik couldn't recall that ever happening before. 

Erik can't pretend he's not tempted, either; he's not a saint. He thinks there are maybe eleven omegas in his district, and all of them are underage. He's never been face to face with one his age before, and he understands now, all the things they say. It's like there's something wrapping around his mind and trying to draw him closer—the urge to claim, to take. 

But Erik's mother has raised him right. He doesn't force anyone, even if it is supposedly his right. 

"I know how the Career tributes think," Erik says instead of doing any of the things his instincts are singing for him to do: _kiss, claim, take_. He sucks in a deep breath and focuses his gaze on the ground. "They're going to be looking for you. Shaw too. Especially Shaw. He won't be satisfied with just taking out the other alphas to win you. He'll want to claim you here." 

"Thanks for the head's up," Charles says. "But I can handle myself." 

"If Shaw or one of the others gets that gun from you, they're not going to hand it back," Erik snaps, stepping closer, a fierce protectiveness rising up from somewhere deep within him. It occurs to him then what winning will mean, and he can't believe he's never thought of it before. If he's the one to survive this, and he's planning to be, then Charles will be his. 

"Maybe that's not the only weapon I took," Charles says evenly. "I had nearly two minutes at the Cornucopia before the first alpha was even able to crawl back up to his knees." 

Erik gives a lop-sided grin, impressed with his bravado—even more so because it's been earned. "What was that thing?" he asks. "My head is still pounding." 

"It was a flashbang, I've seen them used before in the Games," Charles says. "The noise disrupts the fluid in the ear and causes disorientation while the flash of light essentially renders you temporarily blind. I kept my eyes closed and covered my ears when it went off, grabbed what I could and ran." 

"You could have taken out more than half the alphas while they were out," Erik points out. 

"They didn't need my help with that," Charles says. "When they woke up they did it well enough on their own." 

It's a fair point, but Charles is avoiding the issue. "You can't worry about not hurting them," Erik says. "They won't pay the same courtesy to you." 

"It's not me they're trying to kill, you're the one that ought to worry," Charles tells him. "I just need to stay hidden so none of them can find me."

"If that plan was working, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Erik says wryly. 

"But you're not like them," Charles says, assessing him with those clear blue eyes, and Erik can't help but be somewhat unsettled. He thinks Charles sees a lot more than he's meant to. "I'm not sure why, but you're not." 

"I don't have any interest in hurting you. The only thing I care about right now is getting out of this alive," Erik says, because it's at least partly the truth. He's seen more than one alpha end up with a knife in their back because they were distracted by the omega. Erik can't afford that kind of distraction. 

But there is another option. 

Erik doesn't expect any sponsors, especially not after this. An alpha not taking the omega right in front of him? He's probably just made himself into a joke. He's definitely not going to be able to risk any alliances with the other alphas. Charles is perhaps the only person here he can trust, and he's proven himself to be extremely resourceful. 

"We could work together," Erik says. "You know I can't kill you. You chose to carry around a tranq gun instead of a real weapon, so I'm pretty sure you won't kill me either. Not to mention you're a lousy shot."

"You moved at the last second," Charles says defensively. "And what do you mean? You want an alliance? With me? Cause I'm not going to—" 

"I want you to watch my back," Erik cuts in. "You're clever. Cleverer than any of them, I'd bet. I like my chances better with you on my side." 

"Okay," Charles says hesitantly. "Alright. You've got yourself a deal." 

Erik reaches out a hand and Charles frowns at it. "Don't you have handshakes wherever you're from?" Erik asks. 

"District 1," Charles says. "And yes. It's just hardly anyone ever does." 

But Charles reaches out and grabs his hand, and he doesn't even comment when Erik holds on a little too long. 

"We need to get deeper into the forest," Erik says, glancing back in the direction of the Cornucopia. "The Careers will most likely set up in the clearing." 

"Yes," Charles says. "They already have. And the other from your district, Shaw. He's with them." 

"You've been spying," Erik says in admiration. It was gutsy to stick around and assess the situation. Every Game he can remember where the omega avoided getting captured in the first bloodbath, all they'd ever done was run flat out. Usually they got so dehydrated or starved that the Gamemakers arranged to herd them straight into the arms of an alpha. The ingrained protective instincts of whatever alpha it was would be sure to keep the omega alive, regardless of what else they would do to them. 

Charles isn't planning by any of usual the rules, and Erik respects that. He doesn't play by them either. 

"Let's go then," Erik says, starting to move deeper into the trees. Charles reaches out to grab his arm to stop him, and Erik tries not to notice the way the point of contact sends a shock through his whole body, like a strike of lightening. 

"Wait," Charles says. "That's the other reason I'm still here. I found water." Charles lets go and starts moving off to the left. He turns around when Erik does not follow. "Are you coming?" he asks, holding his tranquilizer gun tipped casually towards the ground, but ready to raise it in an instant, Erik is sure of that. 

Erik knows suddenly and without a doubt that he's made the right choice. He'd put his money on Charles over any alpha in the arena. He starts to follow, and Charles turns to lead the way. 

"How do you know how to do all this?" Erik asks. 

Charles glances back suspiciously, and at first Erik thinks he simply does not trust him—but then he notices the way his eyes track the trees. Charles is more aware of the fact that they're being televised than any tribute Erik has ever seen. Most of the time when he's been forced to watch the Games in the past, he forgets the tributes even know the cameras are there they're so unconscious of them. They can't afford to think of them. 

But Charles does, and he must know if he tells Erik how he knows what he does, the Gamemakers will do their best to make sure no other chosen omega ever does. Erik is instantly sorry for asking. 

"Well, we all see the Games, right?" is all Charles says. "I'm a quick study." 

Charles leads him to a small lake, and Erik instantly drops beside it to drink some water. He opens his pack and finds a canteen, which he fills at once. There's also some beef jerky, a sleeping bag, and some rope. It's not as much as he'd hoped, but it will do for now. He looks over at Charles, who is drinking from his own canteen. 

"What did you get?" Erik asks, nodding to the pack. He's really hoping Charles thought to get a sleeping bag, because there's no way Erik can trust himself that close to him if they're forced to share. 

"Some food, a sleeping bag, a couple of canteens," Charles says, then he adds, very casually, "another flashbang." 

Erik laughs lightly. "Maybe a little warning this time, before you use it, if it's not too much trouble?" he asks. 

Charles smiles back, but only just barely. "No promises," he says. 

Erik looks away. Charles is not his enemy here, so it's easy to forget that he is Charles' enemy. If Charles helps him win, it means he's assisting in his own captivity by choosing his captor. Though to be fair, it isn't as though Charles will be put in a gilded cage; omegas, especially tribute omegas, do have some rights after surviving the games. 

But if Erik wins, Charles will still belong to him by law. They liked to gloss this over in the Capital by talking up how satisfying the alpha and omega partnership is, to the point that after this is over, Charles will be every bit as famous as the alpha that wins him.

The tribute omegas are expected to go on the victory tour, to live happily ever after with the alpha that in most cases had raped them repeatedly during the Games. 

Erik thinks that's even worse, the way they pretend like everyone's happy.

"I meant what I said, I'm not going to hurt you," Erik says sincerely. "This isn't some strategy just to get you to trust me. I honestly think we can help each other." 

"It's getting dark," Charles says, looking away, neither accepting Erik's claim or refuting it. "I think we should sleep in the trees. As high as we can, and we can use your rope to secure ourselves down." 

"You want me to sleep in a tree?" Erik asks incredulously, rising from the lake after he fills his canteen again. "If someone finds us we'll be stranded up there." 

"As oppose to them finding us while we're on the ground, and simply killing you in your sleep?" Charles asks politely. "It would be easier than being stranded, I suppose." 

Erik narrows his eyes at him. "You're not like any omega I've ever heard of," he snaps. 

"People don't like to talk about the ones like me," Charles says wryly. 

Erik softens, and shakes his head. "Well, the whole world's watching you now," he says. 

"I suppose they are," Charles agrees. 

"Come on then," Erik says, swinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Let's climb the damn tree." 

Erik goes first and Charles follows him. They stop when they reach two branches going opposite directions but nearly level, and then each lean against the trunk, their backs to each other. They climb into their sleeping bags and secure themselves with the rope. 

Erik shares his beef jerky, and Charles gives him some dried peaches. It's almost a meal, and Erik is feeling stronger just in time for the cannon to sound. The sky lights up with the faces of the dead, one by one—thirteen total. Erik doesn't recognize any of them, but he's a made a point not to get attached. Eleven left, then. Including Shaw. 

"You're a good climber," Charles says after a moment, saying nothing of the dead.

"District 12 has a lot of trees," Erik says, careful not to mention that they also have a forest outside the unused electric fence, or the fact that he's poached there nearly every day since he was twelve. "I used to like the view from the top. How about you? I didn't think District 1 had a lot of trees." 

"We don't, but there was one right outside my window," Charles says. "I used to climb out of it into the tree." 

Erik laughs, settling into the sleeping bag, almost relaxed against all odds. "And where were you going?" he asks. 

"There wasn't anywhere to go," Charles says, closing his eyes. "So I just stayed in the tree."


	2. Chapter 2

When Erik awakes the next morning, he turns to see Charles has already untied himself, and sits with his legs dangling down towards the ground, his head resting on the trunk of the tree. Where Erik sits on the opposite side, he can't quite see his face. 

"Did you sleep at all?" Erik asks quietly. 

"Some," Charles says. "I didn't want to wake you, but we really should get moving." 

Erik nods, though Charles cannot see him, and winds up his rope to put it in his backpack. Once he throws it back over his shoulder, he sees that Charles has already dropped down to the ground. He follows after him quickly. Then he does a mental inventory of their food supply as Charles fills up his canteen. 

"We're going to run out of food within the day," Erik tells him after a moment. "I wish I had something to hunt with." 

Charles stands and reaches under his jacket, pulling a knife out of the waistband of his pants where it had rested against his hip. He holds it out. "How good are you with a knife?" he asks. 

Erik takes it, grinning slightly. "You've had this hidden on you all the time?" he asks, wondering if Charles would have used it, if Erik had tried to kiss him instead of backing away. 

"Yes, but I'm no good with it," Charles says. "You're welcome to it. Anyway, it wouldn't be very good of me to leave my only ally unarmed would it? And I need to go find out where the Careers are." 

"You need to what?" Erik asks, his voice lowering in anger. "The point is to keep you away from them."

"Which is easier to do if you know where they are," Charles says. "It's a bit of a paradox, I know." 

"I'm not letting you go running off after a bunch of alphas," Erik snaps. 

"The moment you attempt to stop me doing anything this alliance is over," Charles tells him calmly. 

"Fine," Erik says in frustration. "But we should at least go together." 

"You need to hunt, and I'm not good at that," Charles says. "I am good at staying hidden." 

Erik wants to protest further but he knows Charles is right. Forcing the omega would give someone like Shaw what he wanted, but there was no way to force Charles to give Erik what he wants. 

Charles rolls up his sleeping bag and Erik frowns at his light clothes, wondering how he's going to stay hidden dressed in that. He nearly suggests Charles dirty them with some mud, but while the clothes make him a target, they also protect him. If he were to blacken them he could be mistaken for an alpha from a distance and caught in the crossfire.

It was rare, but omegas could get severely injured. Too many traps were set for the alphas for an omega to never wander into one, but unlike alphas, seriously injured omegas would be whisked away at once for treatment and then returned.

There had only been one year out of the 74 Games that an omega had been killed—that game was never replayed, and no one ever spoke of it.

Erik knows a number of failsafes have been instituted since then. The capital was happy to watch an omega get repeatedly raped, but battle wounds or death? Barbaric.

So now they inserted an implant under their skin to track their vital signs and administer contraceptives. Wouldn't want the omega to end up carrying the child of some dead tribute instead of the one he gets bonded to, either. The Gamemakers like to think ahead. 

Erik runs a hand down over his eyes, trying not to worry about it, because this was exactly what he hadn't wanted to happen. His only concern was supposed to be staying alive, not worrying about some stubborn omega getting himself hurt. 

"And what if you're caught?" Erik asks. 

"Then I'll go down fighting," Charles tells him, as he gets to his feet. "Erik, we need to know what they're up to. We're going to have to face them eventually. It's unlikely they'll break their alliance before they find us, so we can't count on them to kill each other off." 

"Fine. You do some reconnaissance, and only reconnaissance, and we meet back here then," Erik agrees. 

"Deal. I'll be back in time for dinner," Charles says. "Only—"

"What?" Erik asks in concern. 

"Just…don't look for me, if I'm not," Charles says. "Just focus on finishing the game. If you win you'll see me again anyway." 

"Charles," Erik starts. 

"Those are the usual alliance rules," Charles says firmly. "Work together and look out for each other, but don't go out of you way to save them. Isn't that right?" 

"Nothing about our alliance is usual," Erik says. 

"All the same," Charles says. "Don't get killed for me. It's not worth it. I'll be fine." 

Erik feels light-headed as Charles turns and walks into the trees without another word. Every instinct he has is crying out for him to stop him, to keep him safe. 

He doesn't know if it's the right decision or not, when he lets him go instead.

* * * * *

It doesn't take Charles very long to find them, which is more than a little worrying. They are dangerously close to his camp. It's the laughter that tips him off—brutal and loud, more like some bizarre battle cry than a gesture of mirth. 

Charles knows that laugh. Cain Marko. 

Charles had known he was here, of course. He'd watched the reaping, had felt secretly and horribly grateful when Cain had volunteered—and not just because it had meant both of the positions had then been filled and Raven was safe.

Charles carefully moves along the forest floor, getting close enough that he can see them. There are four of them, with Cain taking up the rear, delightfully regaling the others with stories of all the alphas he killed during the bloodbath. 

To the credit of the other three, they appear to be ignoring him. Emma walks in front of him, but studiously does not acknowledge him. Emma is from his district too, and she knows Cain well enough not to encourage him. A tribute from District 4 walks beside her, Jason, Charles thinks, though he cannot remember his last name. 

Sebastian Shaw is in the front, terrifyingly silent, as he leads the others—as he leads the others straight towards where Erik has gone to hunt, Charles realizes suddenly. The four alphas have any number of weapons between them, and Erik only a single knife. There's no way he can win in a fight against them all. 

He only has a moment to decide what he's going to do. He can either let them go or he can draw them away. He knows he'll live in either case, but the same can't be said of Erik. So it's not really much of a decision at all. 

Charles aims his gun and fires, and his dart hits Jason in the side of his neck. The other three spin around, Cain and Emma freezing when they spot him, while Shaw reaches down to unceremoniously snap Jason's neck, obviously unwilling to leave him behind while still alive. 

In the beat of silence after the sudden sound of snapping bones, they all stare at each other in disbelief—then they all start running at the same time. 

Charles pushes through the trees, heading deeper into the forest than he's been so far. He can hear the alphas behind him, calling out for him to stop, and making promises to be gentle he knows they won't keep if he's caught. 

When he gets far enough ahead of them, he starts climbing the tallest tree he can find. He scrambles up it without hardly thinking about it, reaching out to grab one limb after another until he's so high he gets a bit dizzy looking down. 

The three alphas are standing there looking back up at him by the time he finally stops climbing, and Charles carefully balances on the limb he's on and rests his weight against the trunk. 

Shaw attempts to climb up after him, and Charles aims the tranquilizer gun and fires. Shaw curses, losing his grip and falling to land on his back. He's standing again in a second, though, so Charles knows he's missed or only grazed him. It was the last dart he had, but he keeps the gun in his hands, because there's no reason to let them know that.

Cain only laughs as Shaw dusts himself off and fumes, before looking up to meet Charles' eyes. 

"Hello, Charles," Cain calls up gleefully. "Imagine my surprise, when I saw it was you waiting for me. It's almost fate. Do you remember all the things I used to say I would do to you, if we ever ended up in the Games together?" 

"Vividly," Charles says. "Raven and I used to laugh for hours about the ridiculous expectations you held of your own stamina." 

Cain's expression goes dark. "Well, your alpha bitch sister isn't here to save you now, is she?" he snaps. 

"You know him?" Shaw demands. 

"He's from our district," Cain says. "The Mayor's son, even. Always locked away to keep us alphas from touching him—but who's going to stop us now?" 

Beside Cain, Emma is silently watching. Charles knows enough about them both to be far more wary of her than him. Emma isn't nearly as sadistic, but she is extremely manipulative and she will be playing to win. 

"Spoiled then, huh?" Shaw asks, looking up at Charles in feigned concern. "I bet this is all really frightening for you, am I right? But I'll take care of you if you come down to me. I'll make sure you're not hurt." 

"Unless it's by you?" Charles calls down sweetly. "Thanks, but I'll take my chances up here." 

Shaw narrows his eyes. "You will be mine," he says dangerously. "You'd make it a lot easier on yourself if you started behaving for me now."

Charles leans against the trunk, going for casual, relieved that he is high up enough they can't possibly see his hands are shaking. "Did you hear that, Cain?" he asks. "Doesn't leave much room for you in his plans, does he?" 

"I know how the game works, Charles," Cain snaps. "We both know how this is going to end, but you're not going to turn us against each other right now. We've set the terms of our alliance." 

"What if I promised to come down, if you got rid of him?" Charles asks. 

"We'd know you were lying," Emma cuts in, speaking for the first time. She stares up at Charles levelly.

Charles curses to himself because she knows exactly what he's up to. He hasn't exactly been subtle, but Cain doesn't need careful handling. Emma does, but he'd hoped she'd let Cain and Shaw have it out. 

"You have no intention of coming down for us," Emma continues. "But you will come down, Charles. You'll need water eventually. All we have to do is wait you out." 

"That's right," Shaw says brightly. "And I'm very patient, Charles." 

Charles lowers himself to sit on the branch, bracing his back against the trunk, as they start to set up their camp below him. He's told Erik not to look for him, and if he's smart, which Charles is certain he is, he won't take on three of the strongest alphas alone in any case. 

Charles glances back down, tightly holding onto the straps of his backpack. A plan is already forming, but it will have to wait until night. 

He'd be far too easy to chase in the daylight.

* * * * *

It takes them forever to go to sleep. 

Shaw and Emma are both true to their word regarding their patience, but Cain had made no such promise. He'd yelled up one obscene promise after another for nearly hour before Shaw told him if he didn't shut up he'd kill him. A threat like that held a little more weight in the arena than it would anywhere else, so Cain had held his tongue after that. 

Charles leans over to look down and he can see Shaw and Emma asleep fairly near the base of the tree, but Cain is farther out than he likes. He's only got one flashbang left—he's going to have to make it count, and he already knows it won't be as effective using it while they sleep. 

But it was too risky to use it while they were awake. They know what it is now and Cain and Emma were Careers, they've been training all their lives to react and adapt quickly. If he'd used it and they all managed to react fast enough to limit the damage, he'd have lost his only chance. 

At least this way there will be no way for them to mitigate the physical disruption to their inner ear, and it will hopefully give him the edge he needs to escape. 

Charles carefully pulls himself to his feet, grabbing onto a branch above his head with one hand to lean further out. He holds the flashbang in his other hand, aims for the ground between the three alphas, and throws it down. The moment it's out of his hands he leans back against the trunk and lets go of the branch to cover his ears, shutting his eyes as tightly as he can. 

He still hears it, all through his bones, and he reaches out to grab on to the tree after it sounds to keep from tipping over. He glances over the side, and he can see Emma and Shaw both bent double with their hands to their ears. Cain is trying to stumble to his feet, cursing viciously, but he keeps falling down. 

His own head is still spinning a bit from the aftershock, but this is the best chance he's going to get and he can't afford to hesitate. Charles swings around to the opposite side of the tree, and starts going down as fast as he can. He's almost to the bottom when he feels something tug at his backpack, and then he's being thrown through the air, landing hard on his side. 

He gasps as pain lances through his hip, but before he can get his hands under himself to crawl back to his feet Cain gives him a brutal kick that throws him onto his back. 

"You're going to pay for that," Cain promises, reaching down to grab him. 

Cain's moves are still sluggish, so Charles manages to roll away. He forces himself to his feet and starts running. One thought keeps pushing him through the pain in his side: not Cain. 

Any of them but Cain—Emma, even Shaw, just not _Cain_.

Charles has survived years of Cain's taunts and horrible promises because it was so unlikely Cain would ever have a chance to fulfill them he had never even thought to worry. It was impossible not to recall every single one of them now. 

"Charles," Cain calls, and he sounds closer than he should. 

Charles should be able to outrun him no problem, especially with Cain moving as slow as he is. Of course, Charles realizes, he's not moving all that fast himself. His side is aching and his head is still dizzy from a combination of the flashbang and the fall. 

For the first time since the Games began, the reality of what is going to happen to him sinks in. He can barely process the thought, and Cain is rushing him from behind. Charles twists in his grip, turning to knee him in the groin. Cain's grip falters for a moment and Charles starts to run again, but the other man reaches out and snags his ankle, pulling it out from under him and sending him crashing to the ground. 

He lands hard on his stomach, and he can feel Cain moving behind him as his hands slip for purchase on the grass. He can't get back to his feet, and he cries out as Cain grips his hips and drags him back. 

"You're through running from me," Cain says, laughing breathlessly as he pushes one of his legs between Charles' thighs to press them apart. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard you won't even be able to walk." 

Cain rips Charles' backpack off and tosses it aside. Then he pins arms behind his back, pressing him down into the earth as he rips his jacket off his shoulders to twist it around his wrists. Charles tries to get some leverage with his legs, but with Cain's heavy weight on his back he can't move more than an inch. 

Cain flips him over then, before draping himself over him to hold him down. Charles tries to focus on the ache in his arms instead of the feel of Cain's erection pressing into his thigh, and desperately closes his eyes. 

Cain slaps him viciously across the face, before grabbing Charles' chin in his hand to bring it back around. "You're going to watch this," he says.

Cain grabs the waistband of Charles' pants and tears, and they rip half down his left leg right along the seam. Charles wonders distantly if the clothes had been designed to be ripped. 

Cain pulls Charles' pants out of the way, panting obscenely. "I'm gonna make you scream," he promises. "The whole world's gonna know you're mine." 

Charles doesn't waste his breath pleading, he knows Cain too well. It would only spur him on. 

But he won't be silent. 

"That's right, enjoy your moment, Cain," he says politely, "because you're not going to survive this. Emma and Shaw are both smarter than you." 

"But I'm bigger," Cain says, and it's whispered wetly against his ear in some parody of seduction.

Charles shudders and closes his eyes again, flexing his hands beneath him to try and twist out of the restraints. He knows it's no use. Cain does have a point; he's always been strong, and even as off-kilter as that flashbang made him, Charles doesn't have a chance in a fair fight, let alone one with his hands tied behind his back. 

"God, you're so incredible," Cain says breathlessly. "It's been maddening, all these years, not being able to touch you. I hope your sister is watching every second of this, I really do." 

Cain puts a hand under one of Charles' knees, laughing at Charles efforts to kick him away, and leans forward to fold his leg up against his chest to trap it between them. Charles lets out an involuntary sob as it jars his bruised hip.

"Now that is a beautiful sound," Cain says, moving to lick a stray tear from his cheek. "Let's see if I can get you to make it again, shall we?" 

"Let's not." 

Charles is not quite able to understand the furious proclamation before Cain is being ripped away from him, only to be thrown back down on the ground a few feet away. Erik stands above Cain, his eyes lit madly in the glow of the moon, his face so expressionless he might be made of stone. 

"Erik," Charles says, and he's having trouble processing his arrival. Cain appears to be having the same problem, as he continues to sit dazed where he's been thrown. Cain hadn't brought any of his weapons from the camp—he hadn't thought he'd need them, since it was only Charles he was after. 

But Erik still has the knife, and his right hand is curled dangerously around its handle. 

"Emma and Shaw, Erik," Charles says, as he sits up and twists his hands free from his ruined jacket. "We've got to go, they're close." 

"I have to take care of this first," Erik says, terrifyingly calm. 

Something in Erik's tone seems to reach Cain, and he narrows his eyes as he drags himself to his feet to face him. "Erik, is it?" Cain sneers. "And just why does _my_ Charles know your name? You better not have touched him." 

"Oh, we've touched quite a lot," Charles assures him, holding his pants together as he tries to stand. "Erik knows exactly how to treat an omega. Unlike you." 

"Stay out of this, Charles," Cain snaps. "I'll have it sorted in just a moment." 

"You'll be dead in a moment," Erik says levelly. 

Cain charges him, using his greatest advantage, his strength. He grabs Erik's arm to try and get him to drop the knife, but Erik wraps one leg around him to drag it up behind his knee and send him to the ground. Cain is still gripping Erik's arm, but Erik twists his wrist so the knife is facing Cain. 

Then he pushes all his weight against it until the point disappears into Cain's neck. Charles' breath catches as he watches, caught somewhere between horror and relief. Erik drags the knife out again, and kicks Cain away until he falls on his back. 

Charles watches as Cain's hand twitches slightly, and blood bubbles out of his mouth as he makes one last sound—some grotesque parody of his usual laugh. 

"Oh god," Charles says, and he feels sick. He doesn't think he can move, but Erik doesn't give him a choice; suddenly he's in front of him, not even stopping, just grabbing his hand to drag him behind as they run. 

Charles doesn't realize until they've gone much too far to go back that he's left his backpack behind.

* * * * *

Erik doesn't let them stop until they've gone far past their lake. He pulls them into a thick copse of trees and finally lets go of Charles' hand. Erik avoids looking at his torn clothes, and Charles fights back a hysterical laugh. The whole world is watching—any semblance of modesty is long gone. 

Still, he rips off a strip from his destroyed jacket to make a belt for his torn pants. The slit remains along the side, but at least they're properly held up. 

"Are you alright?" Erik asks, after a moment.

"I'm fine," Charles says. "Thank you. For coming after me." 

"That tribute knew you," Erik says, finally turning to meet Charles eyes. Charles is startled to see he looks angry. 

"He was from my district," Charles says. "He's always been after me." 

"Jesus, why didn't you tell me that one of the alphas was out for you?" Erik demands. 

The question is so ridiculous that Charles can feel all his frustration rising to the surface. "They're all out for me!" he shouts. "What do you think this is? There's no happy ending here for any of us!" 

Erik runs a hand through his hair, looking at Charles' torn clothes, the bruise forming beneath his right eye. He can feel a hatred growing within him like nothing he's ever known. He's never approved of the Games, few in his district did, but the injustice of it was even easier to see from the inside. 

Forcing them all to kill each other was bad enough—but offering up someone as smart and amazing as Charles as bait? It was unforgivable. All of it was unforgivable. 

But Charles is not the right target for his rage, so Erik locks it away within himself and shrugs out of his jacket. "I'm sorry," he says sincerely, stepping closer. Charles takes a step back, but then holds his ground. Erik winces at his reaction, but continues forward slowly. He throws his jacket over Charles' shoulders. 

"I can't take this," Charles protests, frowning at Erik's thin black undershirt. 

"By this point you're pretty recognizable," Erik says. "No one's going to mistake you for an alpha." 

"That's not what I meant," Charles says.

"I know, but don't argue with me," Erik tells him. "You need it more than me."

Charles pulls the jacket on and zips it up. Erik's scent wraps around him, and it's comforting in a way that Charles cannot afford. He swallows and looks back the way they'd come. "I lost my sleeping bag," he says. "And my gun." 

"I know," Erik says. "It's okay." 

"I don't want to sleep in the trees tonight, either," he continues. 

"You don't have to," Erik says, before turning to his own pack and pulling out what's left of the jerky. "I got two squirrels earlier, but I left them back by the lake. So we'll have to split what's left of this." 

Charles shakes his head. "You can have it," he says. "I've got no appetite." 

"You have to eat," Erik says gently. 

"Later, maybe," Charles says, eyes still scanning the trees. He looks as though he expects someone to jump out any moment. 

Erik wishes he could reassure him no one will. 

"Okay, let's just get some sleep then," Erik says, dragging out his sleeping bag. He unzips it all the way around so they can use it as a blanket, and then picks up his pack to drag everything over near some bushes. There is a kind of alcove between two of the largest ones, and he slips between them. 

After a moment, Charles slips in beside him. He lies down at his side, and Erik throws the blanket over them. Erik tries to think of something he can say to reassure him he would never hurt him the way Cain had, but then he feels Charles grab his hand to delicately twine their fingers together, so he figures he must already know. 

"There might be a happy ending in here somewhere," Erik says softly. 

"I do want it to be you," Charles confides, rolling his head against Erik's shoulder. "But I want it on our own terms."

"Okay," Erik says. 

"Just like that?" Charles asks, turning his head up to look at him. 

"I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone," Erik says, swallowing dryly. "But this is hardly the best place to get to know someone, is it?" 

"No," Charles says, laughing slightly. "Or maybe it's the only way to really know someone. I'm not quite sure." 

"Well, it will be over soon," Erik promises. 

One way or another, Erik knows it's the truth. Charles' actions have been clever and entertaining, and very novel—but it would only get him so much leeway with the Gamemakers. The confrontation at the tree was bloody enough it probably bought them some more time, but sooner or later they'll do something to try and herd Charles towards an alpha. Another alpha, Erik thinks grimly. One that's going to do what they're expected to. One like Cain.

Charles tightens his grip on Erik's hand as the cannon sounds. The faces flash by one after another, four more dead, and then there's the fifth: Cain.

Charles expects to feel relief when Cain's face lights the sky. 

But he doesn't feel anything at all.


	3. Chapter 3

For the first moment after he wakes, Erik can almost imagine he is content. He can hear the mockingjays in the distance, and Charles has curled up against him sometime in the night. He has one hand clutching Erik's shirt, as though afraid he might slip away. He can feel his soft breaths against his neck. 

It's easier now to fight down his urges when he's around Charles, though that is not to say they have in the least gone away—but it is nearly impossible to objectify Charles as the trophy he's meant to be, now that he's seen who he is. If it hurts to be this close without reaching out to hold him tighter, well, he's willing to suffer far worse on his behalf. 

That thought brings the reality of their situation back to mind, and Erik runs a hand across his eyes. This is not a safe place, and he can't afford to stay where he is. There are six other tributes left, and he knows at least two of them to be extremely dangerous; though any to live this long were not to be counted out. Shaw, he remembers, had received a rating of 9, and Emma Frost a 10. 

Erik had scrapped by with a 7, but only because he couldn't be bothered to show them what he was capable of. He had nothing to prove to them. 

He bets Charles would have received at least an 11, if they'd bothered to rate him. 

"Erik?" Charles asks sleepily, letting him go the moment he wakes, and pushing himself a foot away. "Sorry." 

"It's okay," Erik says. "How are you feeling?" 

Erik can see through the wide tear in Charles' pants that his hip and upper thigh have purpled overnight. It has to be painful, and he winces in regret at having forced Charles to run so long the night before. But it isn't as though they'd had any other option. 

"Just a bit sore," Charles says, forcing himself to his feet. "I'll be fine. We have bigger concerns. We've only got a single knife between us now and we've hardly any food. Plus I lost all my canteens. Everything was in my backpack." 

"We can share my canteen," Erik says. "I think if we go a little further we should find another water source." 

"I need to go back," Charles tells him. "Hopefully Emma and Shaw didn't find my pack, and I can grab it—" 

"Charles, they would have been looking for you," Erik says gently. "I'm sure they found your pack. We can't risk it. We need to get some food." 

"I don't have anything," Charles says, sounding lost. He runs a hand through his hair, and the sleeves of Erik's jacket keep falling below his wrists, no matter how many times he tries to push them back up. "I had a plan, simple, get the gun and just stay out of the way." 

"Hey," Erik says, reaching out to grab Charles' hand, and turn it up. He places the handle of the knife on his palm and closes his fingers around it. "Take this then. It's yours anyway." 

Charles shakes his head, and moves to give it back, but he looks calmer. "I'm a rubbish hunter," he says. "Keep it." 

Erik nods, and takes it back. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asks. 

Charles narrows his eyes in his direction, going instantly defensive. "Nothing to talk about," he says, kneeling beside the sleeping bag to roll it back up. "I got spotted and got caught." 

Erik swallows and nods. "How long—how long were you with them? You were gone for hours, and I was looking but—" 

"Oh," Charles says, and he shakes his head. "No, you stopped Cain before anything happened. I was able to get away from them by climbing a tree. I'm fine, Erik, really." 

"And you dropped a flashbang on them," Erik says, in realization. "I heard it last night and knew it had to be you." 

"It didn't work as well as I'd hoped," Charles says wryly. 

"It worked pretty well," Erik assures him. "We never could have fought off all of them. You increased our odds from two against three to two against one." 

"More like one against one," Charles says, unable to meet his eyes. "I couldn't stop him, Erik. You know what they used to call him back home? The Juggernaut." 

"I should probably feel something more for him than I do," Erik says softly. "But he was hurting you, and I can't bring myself to regret what I've done." 

"Cain was here because he wanted to be, and given the chance he would have done far worse to you," Charles tells him. "You don't owe him anything." 

"I don't know why anyone would want this," Erik says. 

"They don't really, I don’t think," Charles says. "They want what comes after, and they're too young and overconfident to realize it might not be worth the cost."

"Yes, they're all so young," Erik says holding out a hand to help Charles up. "And you're so very old." 

Charles hesitates only a moment before grabbing it and getting to his feet. "I'm an old soul," Charles informs him. 

Erik grins, picking up his backpack to throw it over his shoulders. "I'm going to try and get us something to eat," he says. "How good are you with locating edible plants?" 

"My mother took on botany as a hobby once, for a few weeks," Charles says. "I read through all her books." 

"I'll take that as a pretty good," Erik says. "Let's go." 

"I should head in another direction, so we can try and find a stream as well," Charles says. "We can meet back here." 

Erik freezes, his expression going stony. "I…think we should stay together," he says stiffly. 

Charles bites his lip to hold off a grin, because it's not funny, not really, but he can tell how hard it is for Erik not to just make a demand. He doesn't know of many alphas that would bother to even try. Even Raven often ordered him about, though to be fair to her, that was more to do with them being siblings than the fact she was an alpha. 

"Alright," Charles agrees. He knows it's far too late to try and separate his goals from Erik's now—he'd realized that yesterday, when he'd lead away the Careers without even thinking it through. He may as well accept things were no longer simply about survival, but something far more dangerous: hope.

Charles had resigned himself a miserable life. He figured he would be spending it with his rapist, shown off once a year at victory dinners, then locked away in some beautifully dressed prison for the rest of it. 

As he carefully follows Erik's silent steps deeper into the woods, he realizes life with Erik wouldn't be so bad. Erik is so unlike Cain, but then he knows that Cain was never the best point of reference. Raven is an alpha and Charles loves her more than anyone else in the world. 

So maybe it isn't so strange to think he might be happy with Erik—so long as he can keep him alive. 

Charles looks up as he hears the strange rush of air in front of him. Erik had thrown the knife and pinned a squirrel to the trunk of the tree. "So I guess you are fairly capable with knives then?" Charles asks wryly. "I haven't even had time to look for any plants." 

Erik throws him a sheepish grin as he grabs back the knife and the squirrel. "It was a lucky shot," he says. "We can do the gathering thing later. You any good at starting fires?" 

"I was better at it when I had the matches that were in my pack," Charles says with a sigh. "But I'll give it a shot." 

By the time Charles manages to get a spark, Erik has already cleaned the squirrel. Charles watches him set it over the flame, before glancing around them at the silent trees. He feels like he's trapped in a fishbowl—just circling around the edges, eyes watching intently from the other side of the glass. 

He's fairly certain he's turning out to be a disappointment to those watching. 

"What's District 1 like?" Erik asks, drawing Charles' eyes back to him. 

Charles' expression goes shuttered. "I was always very well taken care of," he says. "Everyone's very spirited there about the Games. I'm sure they were quite excited to see I was chosen." 

It sounds like he's taken that directly from one of the short district summaries given by the cheery voiceover as the reapings begin, and Erik realizes Charles probably cannot give him a truthful answer here. He probably has nothing good to say about where he's from. 

Charles looks away. "Except my sister," he admits. "She's probably not too happy." 

"You're close with her?" Erik asks. 

"She's two years younger than me, but that never stopped her from trying to boss me around," Charles says fondly. "She still has five reapings left, but she'll be fine. We almost always have volunteers in District 1, and I made her promise that she wouldn't ever be one of them." 

"Does she want to be?" Erik asks, frowning as he tries to understand the motivations of Career tributes. 

"No," Charles says quietly. "At least, I don't think so." 

"I can't remember the last time we had a volunteer in my district," Erik says. 

"It's expected in mine," Charles says. "My mother was quite disappointed that Raven didn't intend to volunteer. I think she blamed me. We were never very close." 

Erik feels ill at the very thought, of wanting your child to be a part of this. He returns his focus to their meal, pulls the squirrel back from the fire, carefully ripping off a piece of the meat to hand to Charles. "I—" he starts. 

"It's okay. It's really not her fault," Charles says. "It's kind of hard to get attached to someone you know is going to be taken away. At least the odds were in Raven's favor."

Erik can think of nothing to say to that. He knows better than to tell him, 'I'm sure she loved you,' because even if he can't understand not loving Charles, he doesn't know anything about his life in District 1. The best he can do is offer up something of his own. "Well, my mother would love you. I don't know what I would have done without her. I don't have any siblings, and my father—he was killed in the mines." 

"I'm sorry," Charles says, turning the meat in his hands. He's ripping off small pieces and forcing himself to swallow them whole, but at least he's eating, so Erik's not going to complain. Erik is used to squirrel, it's not really all that different from the meals he gets at home. 

"It's okay," Erik says. "It was a bit hard for her to find work because she's a beta and they wouldn't let her in the mines, but I helped as soon as I was old enough and we got by. Anyway, she's the strongest person I know, beta or not." 

"I'd like to meet her," Charles says, though he knows it's unlikely. Once omegas reached maturity, they were rarely allowed to visit anyone in the districts, even if they were lucky enough to have been a tribute and they were there for the victory banquets. At the banquets, the omegas were meant to stay at their alpha's side at all times and were usually accompanied by two beta guards. 

The capital explains this by claiming that the alphas in the districts cannot be trusted to behave around an omega. Just look at what they do to them during the Games, they say, as though it's some kind of proof. 

"Then you will," Erik says, and he sounds so certain that Charles glances up to meet his eyes. Erik stands up with a grin, reaching out for to grab his backpack. 

Charles can't understand him. He keeps thinking no one can really be this way, that it must be some sort of strategy. Except that he knows it can't be. Erik hadn't exactly endeared himself to the audience during the interviews and this could hardly be helping his cause. 

If it was a strategy, it was the worst one to have ever been tried. 

"Erik—" Charles starts, as he pushes himself to his own feet. 

His words get caught in his throat and then forgotten as he watches Erik go pale and stumble back. Erik's legs fold underneath him, his backpack crashing beside him on the ground. Charles' eyes stray down to Erik's leg, where a beautifully fletched arrow is half buried in his thigh. 

"Erik!" he shouts, quickly dropping in front of him, blocking any further shots. He glances briefly behind him, and catches a wash of black, moving swiftly through the trees. 

Erik's head falls back against the ground. "Get out of here, Charles," he gasps, his hand going to rip the arrow out. 

Charles catches his wrist. "Don't," he says. "Leave it in or you'll bleed out." 

"Charles, I can't run," Erik says, reaching out to grab his sleeve. "You're going to have to leave me here." 

"I am, yes, but I'll be back as soon as I've found them," Charles says, grabbing the hilt of the knife and tugging it from Erik's waistband. "Wait here."

"Don't, Charles, no," Erik reaches out to grab him, but a burst of pain in his leg has him collapsing again. "Goddamnit!" 

Charles' greatest advantage in the arena is they don't want to seriously hurt him. The bow and arrow this alpha is wielding is useless against him—too much chance that he'll be killed. Charles does not want to kill, but he does not have to be so careful of his enemies. 

He sees another flash of black in the trees and takes off after him. Charles tackles him from behind, and he sees the bow go flying, and half his arrows scatter across the ground. The alpha lets out a growl, twisting beneath him just in time to catch hold of Charles' wrist before he can lower the knife.

"Well, I can't say this is how I envisioned our first meeting, but I like your style," the alpha laughs. 

Charles recognizes him as Victor, from District 7. Lumberjacks. No wonder he couldn't properly shoot an arrow. 

What Victor does have, like Cain, is strength. Charles winces as he twists his wrist tightly, digging one of his thick fingers into the palm of Charles' hand until the knife drops out of his grasp. Victor takes the knife and drags Charles to his feet, pinning him up against a tree. 

Charles watches as Victor's eyes dilate so drastically he looks drugged. Charles distantly remembers a study about that—the effect of depriving alphas contact with omegas, the way it built up until they could no longer control themselves when they were eventually near one. 

When he had mentioned it to Raven, she had commented dryly that perhaps that was the Capital's point in taking them all away. Charles himself had written it off as Capital propaganda, meant to keep the omegas growing up in the districts all but caged, but he's beginning to think there might be something to it. 

"You don't really want to do this," Charles tells him. "Just—just stop and think—" 

"No, you're right, sweetheart, as much as I'd love to, I've got to take care of your little buddy back there first," he agrees, flipping the knife he'd just acquired carelessly in his hand. "But tell you what, just cause you like him so well, I'll slit his throat real quick so you won't have to listen to him scream." 

Victor fists his hands in Charles' hair, pulling his head forward slightly only to slam it back against the tree so hard he sees stars. "Wait here for me," he says, in some strange twist of Charles' words to Erik. "I'll be right back." 

Charles slumps to the ground in a daze the moment Victor lets him go, and the other man laughs, running a hand possessively through Charles' hair before he turns around to stalk back towards Erik. 

Erik has tried to drag himself to his feet to go to Charles' aid, but he hasn't managed to make it any further than a few steps. Victor stomps towards him, lifting one foot to slam it into Erik's chest, knocking him back and pinning him to the ground. He drops down to sit atop him, the alpha's burly thighs holding Erik's arms immobile. Erik struggles to pull them loose, but his head had already been swimming from shock, and he can't muster the strength to dislodge him.

"I promised that pretty little omega back there that I wouldn't make you scream," Victor says, lightly running the knife along Erik's neck. "Let's not make a liar of me." 

Erik holds his tongue, determined to be stoic not because the world is watching, but because the bastard has the right idea about one thing at least—he doesn't want Charles to hear him scream. 

He's just about to close his eyes when he sees the sliver tip of an arrow press its way out of the alpha's throat. Blood bubbles up past his lips as his eyes glass over and he drops away, dead before he even crashes to the ground at Erik's side. Erik drags himself back away from the body with his hands, and when he looks up he sees Charles. He is standing twenty feet away, the bow held up as though he's still setting his aim. 

Omegas were, of course, allowed to fight back. It made things much more interesting when they didn't simply roll over, and the Gamemakers encouraged it to an extent—but omegas rarely managed to kill an alpha, and few have even tried. Erik knows there have been those that have, but never in a game he remembers watching, so not for at least the last fourteen years. 

Charles throws the bow over his shoulder before dropping down beside Erik. He rolls Victor the rest of the way off him, taking the quiver deftly from his back as he moves him and throwing it over his other shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Charles asks urgently, hesitantly running a hand over Erik's unmarked throat.

Erik nods, forcing himself to stay sitting up. Charles instantly reaches out to support him, and they both turn to look at the arrow. It's hard to see how much it's bleeding since his pants are black, but Erik's fairly certain it's not as bad as it could be. Charles had probably been right—he'd be dead if he'd pulled it out. 

"Can you stand?" Charles asks him. "I don't think Victor had partners but we need to get you somewhere more defensible." 

Defensible, not safe, Erik thinks, a little hysterically. Sometimes Charles sounds like one of the Careers. But then, he'd grown up with them. 

"I'm supposed to be saving you," Erik tells him. 

Charles looks like he'd be irritated, if he weren't so terrified. "You're going to go all alpha on me _now_?" he asks disbelievingly. "You have to let me help you, Erik. You saved me last night. It's my turn. Partners, remember?"

"Right, we shook on it," Erik agrees, though some part of still doesn't think it's right. How is he supposed to protect Charles if he can't even stand? 

Charles reaches out and frames his face, turning Erik to look at him. "Erik, listen to me, I need you, okay? I can't do this without you. So you're going to have to snap out of it so we can get out of here." 

"You're manipulating me," Erik protests weakly. "Using my instincts against me."

"I am," Charles agrees. "Is it working?" 

"Help me up," Erik says in answer, and Charles drags him to his feet, stumbling a little under his weight as he secures Erik's arm over his shoulders. "Where are we going?" 

"We can't go back," Charles says. "We've got to keep going forward." 

"We don't know what's there," Erik cautions. 

"No, but we do know what's behind us," Charles says. "Emma and Shaw." 

"Forward it is," Erik agrees, before biting his lip to keep from groaning as they start to move. Every steps seem to dig the arrow in deeper. He doesn't know how long they walk before Charles helps him to sit down. Charles has been silent the entire time, as though he knew any kind word might break him. 

Charles disappears for a moment, but he reappears before Erik can start to panic. "I found a cave," Charles tells him. "It doesn't look like anyone else has used it." 

Charles has been checking to make sure it's safe. Erik's breath catches as he realizes how useless he's become because of one stupid arrow. It might as well have struck his heart for all his dead weight is going to drag Charles down. 

He knows what's going to happen to him, no matter how well Charles cares for the wound. Infection will set in. No sponsors will step forward for him. 

But maybe he can at least keep Charles busy with him and out of the way while the rest of them kill each other. 

"It's only a few more feet," Charles promises, as he forces him to stand again. 

Charles pulls him into the cave. He's already laid out the sleeping back and he helps Erik lay down on it. Erik lets his head fall back, closing his eyes in pain. His hands itch to grab the arrow and rip it out. 

"You're going to have to pull it out," Erik tells him. 

"The arrowheads are serrated," Charles says. "And it's too far in." 

Erik tenses. "Meaning what?" he asks cautiously, opening his eyes. 

"Meaning the best way to get it out is to push it the rest of the way through," Charles says apologetically. "It's going to hurt." 

"So let's not then," Erik says. 

"Just close your eyes and count to ten and it'll be over," Charles assures him. He carefully snaps off the tail of the arrow, before bending Erik's leg at the knee. Then he unceremoniously places the palm of his other hand against the arrow staff and jams the arrow through to the other side. Erik screams, before biting his lip to hold in a whimper as Charles slowly drags it the rest of the way out. 

Charles pulls more strips off the remnants of his blue jacket, and quickly ties them around his leg as a tourniquet. "Sorry," he whispers the whole time, like some sort of mantra. 

"S'okay," Erik says, closing his eyes as Charles carefully stretches his leg back out to lay it on the ground. He turns to look at Charles. "That was a hell of a shot." 

"I've never used a bow before," Charles says, and his hands are shaking slightly as he ties the makeshift tourniquet tight. "But the concept seemed simple enough and I—" 

There's a story here, Erik can tell, and it's not the one that Charles is giving him. But being televised across the world isn't exactly conductive to holding honest conversations, so he plays along. 

"It's okay," he says. "You did really well. Truly. I couldn't have made that shot and I had training."

"His name was Victor, did you know that?" Charles says. "Victor Creed. I remember him because he had a brother. They interviewed him after the reaping. They were so close—" 

"Stop it," Erik says gently. 

"And I was thinking," he continues. "If it had been my sister, if someone had killed Raven, I wouldn't care why they'd done it. I would hate them, Erik, and I promised myself I wouldn't let this change me. I promised myself that whatever happened I'd still be me."

"Charles, you are," Erik tells him, reaching up to frame his face. "You're the kind of person that wouldn't stand there and watch me get killed. That's who you are. You're the bravest person I've ever known."

Charles surges forward desperately, slipping one hand in Erik's hair to pull him in for a kiss. He's too shaken for it to be graceful, but Erik reaches out and kisses him back, before flopping back down onto the sleeping bag. 

"What was that for?" Erik asks, smiling in something like disbelief. 

"I'm not going to let you die," Charles tells him, and even as he makes the promise, he knows what it means. 

Victor's the first, but if they're going to get out of this, he won't be the last. 

Erik doesn't answer, just reaches out to pull him down beside him. Charles lays his head against his chest. He closes his eyes and pretends he's only lending his support to Erik, and not the other way around. 

Charles doesn't know how long he sleeps before he is jarred awake by a something that sounds like a lightening strike, and he sits upright. When he hears the pleasant, mild mannered voice of their host Janos say, "Tributes," he realizes it's something far more ominous than that. 

Erik wakes up beside him, reaching out to grab Charles' arm so he can half sit up beside him. 

"We will be holding a feast for our remaining guests," Janos announces. "Before you think to decline our generous invitation, we would like to remind you all that there is something each of you desperately needs. We have provided it for you. It will be left at the Cornucopia at dawn. 

And may the odds ever be in your favor." 

Erik's grip on Charles instantly tightens. "You're not going," Erik says. 

Charles has frozen. He has a hundred plans forming already, but none of them end well. He knows this is a trap, and he knows it's meant for him. 

But it's also their best chance.

"I'm serious, Charles, you promise me," Erik says, reaching out for his other arm to drag him around. 

"Erik," Charles starts. 

"No, you even think about it and I'll follow you," Erik says. "I'll follow you and I'll get picked off in no time if I do, so whatever medicine you find there won't do you any good." 

Charles nods reluctantly, because he knows Erik is telling the truth. He'll give in for now. He has until dawn. "This wouldn't be a problem if you had any sponsors," he chides to distract him, as he helps Erik lay back down. "I saw your interview. You told Janos you'd like to see how he'd fare in the Games." 

"It's what all of us were thinking," Erik says. 

"Yes, but everyone else knew not to say it out loud," Charles tells him fondly. "You couldn't have at least tried to be charming? Gotten yourself one sponsor or two?" 

"Charming isn't my strong suit," Erik says, already drifting off. 

"Coulda fooled me," Charles whispers. Erik is asleep in moments, but Charles can't sleep now. He frowns when he sees a flash of silver whip by outside the cave entrance. He disentangles himself from Erik and grabs the bow, before approaching carefully. 

It's something from a sponsor, but Charles knows even before he opens it that it will be something other than the medicine that Erik needs.

He's mostly right, though it is medicine of a kind. 

It's a sleeping draught.


	4. Chapter 4

The sleeping draught is clear and has no scent, so he slips it into Erik's canteen while he sleeps. He doesn't know how strong it is, because it hasn't been sent with instructions. The message behind it is easy enough to decipher without it, if not the proper dosage: they want him to go walking into that feast alone like some kind of virgin sacrifice. 

Charles knows he has no good option here. He needs to get that medicine for Erik. Infection has already set in and he's taken a fever; but if he goes and is caught by one of the other alphas, he'll never be able to give Erik the medicine anyway. 

"Erik," Charles says quietly, pulling him up to settle him back against the rocks. "You need to drink something." 

Erik blinks at him with eyes bright with fever. "We need to keep moving," Erik tells him. 

"No, it's okay," Charles says. "Everyone will be at the feast, so you can rest. I just need you to drink some water first. You have a fever."

Erik takes the canteen, and drinks down a few gulps. Charles watches him carefully, trying to gauge if it is enough. Erik's hand loosens around the canteen and Charles reaches out to grab it and set it aside, steadying him against the wall. 

"Charles," Erik starts. "Charles, what was that—?" 

"Just something to help you sleep," Charles promises, laying him back down on the sleeping bag. 

Erik reaches out and clutches his sleeve. "You promised," he accuses. 

Charles shakes his head. "I didn't," he says. "You just asked me to." 

Erik frowns as the drugs pull him under, his grip loosening on Charles' sleeve. Charles is barely holding onto his own resolve, and he reaches out to brush Erik's hair back of his forehead. 

"You were right about one thing," he whispers once Erik is asleep. He leans down to place a kiss to Erik's burning forehead. "I won't stand by and watch you die."

Charles gets resolutely to his feet and grabs the quiver and bow. He has no plan, but there are only four other tributes left beside him and Erik, and they will hopefully be distracted by each other. 

He just needs to grab the medicine and run. He holds the bow ready, with one arrow already strung. It is still dark out, but they have traveled quite far from the Cornucopia and he will be hard pressed to make it by dawn as it is. His indecision has cost him precious time—time that Erik does not have. 

He is dizzy with exhaustion and thirst by the time he makes it to the edge of the forest. He settles down low behind some rocks and watches the Cornucopia for any sign of life. Dawn is only just breaking, but there are already six bags at the Cornucopia, each marked with a number. 

12, 12, 10, 5, 1 and then: O. If Charles grabs Erik's offering he risks tipping off anyone watching of their alliance, and also possibly stealing Shaw's by mistake—neither option is appealing, so he vows not to be greedy. If the medicine is in the bag marked with the O, he's going to take it and run. 

He cannot see any else around, though he knows that does mean they are not there. But his chances aren't going to get any better, so there's no reason to put it off. He takes a few steady breaths, adjusting his grip on the bow, and then he runs for the Cornucopia.

He makes it to the bags without being stopped, and quickly pulls it open to make sure it is what he needs. There is a jar of medicine within it—the extremely expensive and effective type sold in the Capital, and if he can get it back to Erik it'll fix him for sure. 

Charles spins around to head back and stops dead. A tribute is standing a foot away, grinning madly. He's half covered in mud, an axe held in one hand that he lets drop to the ground as he closes the distance between them. 

Mortimer, Charles thinks. Prefers to be called Morty. District 10. He'd only received something like a rating of 4—but Charles suspects he'd been misleading the Gamemakers about his skills on purpose. Charles discreetly shrugs the bow back over his shoulder, out of the way. It's no use this close in range, so his best chance is to have it overlooked. 

"What you got there, pretty?" Mortimer asks. He grabs the bag from him and looks inside. "What's this for?"

"It's for me," Charles says, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Cain got hold of me." 

Mortimer tosses the medicine to the ground, his pupils dilating until his eyes are almost black. "It's lucky he's dead then," he snaps. "He wasn't worthy of an omega of his own." 

Charles knows he has a very small window of opportunity. He might not be able to use the bow, but he still holds the arrow in his hand, pressed up against his leg out of sight. He twists it to wrap his palm around the stem, and then he strikes, jamming it hard enough into Mortimer's shoulder to drive him back. 

Mortimer cries out, grabbing Charles roughly and shoving him hard into the side of the Cornucopia. Charles feels the world edge black as his head connects against it, and blood starts dripping down from his hairline into his right eye. He glances up and can just make out Mortimer's figure enough to see when he grabs the arrow and rips it out. 

"Little bitch," he yells, wrapping his hands in Charles' jacket to throw him to the ground. He drops down on top of him. "Only good for one goddamn thing." 

Charles gasps as Mortimer presses all his weight onto his chest, driving the air out of his lungs. His vision is clearing as adrenaline surges through him, and he notices that Mortimer is bleeding heavily from his shoulder. It doesn't appear to have fazed him, however, as he starts pulling at Charles' jacket. Charles' hand slips up along the grass, as he reaches for another arrow from his quiver, but Mortimer reaches out and grabs his wrists before he can. 

"What's wrong with you? Are you _defective_?" Mortimer sneers. "I'm fucking claiming you, lie back and take it." 

Charles doesn't know if it's the blood loss or if Mortimer has simply been overwhelmed by his alpha instincts by being in the presence of an omega—but Mortimer seems to have forgotten one very simple fact. They are right out in the open, and they are not the only tributes left. 

Charles stays silent as he sees the hands appear at Mortimer's head, one fisting in his hair to tug back his head, while the other ruthlessly drags a dagger across his throat. 

Mortimer is carelessly thrown to the ground, and he lands like a broken doll beside Charles, his eyes wide open and terrified as he drags in his last breath. The air is thick with a coopery sweetness that hovers for a moment before it dissipates, and Charles can feel it seeping into his jacket, sticking in his throat. He's covered in it. 

He looks up and Emma Frost stares down at him with no expression. Her clothes, unlike everyone else's, still appear pristine. Even her nails are manicured to perfection. 

Charles has always been good at reading people, but Emma is impenetrable. Her cold blue eyes assess him as she slightly tilts her head, and he swallows hard and judges the distance to the tree line. Emma grins like she knows what he's thinking, because they both know he won't make it far if he tries to run. 

"Whatever brings _you_ here, Charles?" she asks, conversationally, as though they've just run into each other on the way to the market. 

He reaches up to wipe the blood off his forehead, and tries to keep his hands from shaking as he sits up. He doesn't get to his feet. This is the first time he's been confronted by an alpha other than Erik that hasn't immediately tackled him, so he's not going to give her a reason to stop being civil. 

"Medicine," he says, then, as explanation, he adds, "Cain." 

"Ah, yes, dear Cain," Emma says. "Darling, tell me, was it you that killed him?" 

"Yes," Charles lies easily. Emma's grin goes sideways, but she's admiring the bloody arrow and Mortimer's wound, so he's fairly certain she believes him. 

"Well, thanks for that," she says. "Saved me the trouble." 

Charles nods, wondering how long this strange truce will last. "Where is your other ally?" he asks. "Shaw, wasn't it?" 

"Oh, he took after a District 5," Emma says, and her statement is punctuated by the sound of a cannon. "Looks like he's found her."

"Then it's just you and Shaw left," Charles says, fairly certain Emma is right that Shaw is the one still alive. Charles isn't lucky enough for him not to be.

"There's still the other one from District 12," Emma reminds him, because of course she has been keeping count. He bets she could list them all by name and their rating if she wanted, though it's telling that she doesn't. "Doesn't look like he's gonna show, though, does it?"

Charles shakes his head. "He bled out earlier," he says. "One of the 7's got him in the leg right before12 killed him." 

"I didn't hear the cannon, sweetie," Emma says. "And he wasn't in the sky last night." 

Charles shrugs with what he hopes looks like nonchalance. "Well, maybe he's still hanging on, but it won't be for long. I guess that's the end of your alliance with Shaw." 

Emma holds out a hand to help him up. Charles wants to refuse, but he has a feeling that Emma will not respond well to rejection. He takes her hand and she drags him to his feet, before tugging him up against her. 

"You're going to get blood on you," Charles tells her nervously. 

Emma laughs, before letting him go so abruptly he has to catch himself against the Cornucopia to stay upright. 

"Go ahead and run, sugar, just this once," she tells him, almost kindly. "For your sister's sake." 

Charles stares back at her with disbelief. He'd forgotten they were even friends. Raven had been so determined to keep him away from every single alpha in their district, she had never hung out with any of them while with him. 

Disbelieving as he is, he still doesn't have to be told twice. He starts edging away, pushing the bow further back on his shoulder and checking the quiver strap as he does. He's grateful that Emma hasn't taken them away; but then, he's fairly certain she prefers knives. 

He knows that this Game will not have a happy ending for them both. If he's to get what he wants, she's going to have to die; but he owes her more than he can repay, and he has to say something. 

For her part, Emma looks amused that he has not immediately taken off, and she raises an eyebrow as he steadily meets her eyes. "You know you can't trust Shaw, right?" he asks. 

"Baby doll, I don't trust anyone," Emma says. "Now I suggest you start running, because it's best you're not here when Shaw arrives. Things might get messy."

Charles nods, reaching down to grab the jar of medicine. Emma does not stop him. "Thank you," he tells her, and then he starts backing away, turning his eyes towards the tree line. 

"You're welcome, but Charles?" she calls, and he reluctantly looks back. "I will come to collect you later." 

Emma starts heading in the other direction, presumably towards Shaw, and Charles heads for the trees as fast as he can. Soon the cannon is sounding as they come to take Mortimer away. Charles winds through the trees as fast as he can, but exhaustion is taking hold, and his vision is turning black at the edges. 

He can't afford to stop, so he keeps going, stopping only when he reaches the lake. He leans down to drink and then submerges himself completely to wash away what blood he can, before crawling back out to continue the long walk back to Erik. He is nearly there when another cannon sounds from far away—he does not know whether to hope that it is for Emma or for Shaw. 

He doesn't wish her dead, but it's her or Erik and he doesn't want to have to kill her himself. If Emma is close enough to Raven to let him go unclaimed even for awhile, then Raven might never forgive him. 

But he can't let Erik die now. The thought of saving him is the only thing that keeps him on his feet. 

It's midday and the sun is blazing by the time he reaches the cave, so his clothes have nearly dried. He still shivers involuntarily when he enters the cave, and drops down beside Erik's still sleeping form. 

He loosens the makeshift bandages and spreads the medicine liberally over Erik's wound before replacing them again. 

Then he falls over unconscious at Erik's side.

* * * * *

The first thing Charles notices when he wakes up is the warmth. He raises one hand to his forehead, running his fingers along the makeshift bandage he finds there with a wince before looking down. The sleeping bag has been pulled up around him, and he is resting back against something soft and warm. 

A hand reaches around him to grab his wrist and tug it away from his head. "You awake?" Erik asks stiffly. 

Charles nods slightly, looking down to see Erik's other hand has wrapped around his waist. Oh. The solid warm thing he was resting against was Erik. "What happened?" Charles asks, and his throat is so raw and dry that his voice cracks.

Erik hands him the canteen, but Charles hesitates. "Erik—" 

"It's been washed out and refilled," Erik tells him coolly. "Don't worry. I'm not trying to drug you."

Charles takes it, and sips it gratefully. He wants so much to just relax back into Erik and close his eyes, but the Gamemakers will not let them rest for long. From the limited light coming in through the cave, he's slept most of the day away as it is. He pushes himself forward, untangling the sleeping bag, but Erik grabs his arm before he can attempt to stand. 

Now that they've been disentangled, Charles is free to turn and look at Erik. Erik, who is glaring at him with narrowed eyes, his mouth held in a tight line. 

"I got the medicine," Charles tells him, hoping to forestall an argument. Erik's expression doesn't change. He starts to reach for the bandage on Erik's leg but the other man tightens his hold on his arm, stretching it immobile between them. "How's your leg?" 

"Nevermind my leg," Erik snaps. "Do you have any idea what it was like to wake up with you laying there? Your hair was matted with blood, it was half down your face, I thought you were _dead_." 

Charles frowns as realizes how serious his head wound had been, and tugs his arm free of Erik's grip to run his hand across it again. When he slips his fingers beneath the bandage, the wound is almost imperceptible—just one thin slice across his skin. "You used some of the medicine on me," Charles accuses him, as he realizes it's nearly been healed. "Erik, there's not enough, you need—" 

"Don't tell me what I need, Charles," Erik snaps, grabbing onto the rocks to pull himself to his feet. He paces towards the cave entrance, still walking with a limp, but obviously improved. 

Charles raises himself up on his knees, surprised when he hardly feels more than twinge in his hip. He glances down at the slit of his pants to see the purple bruising has faded to a light blue tinge, and purses his lips. "Have you at least reapplied it on your leg?" he asks. "There's only one tribute left, and we're going to have to face them soon, you can't—"

"I need you to promise me you're never going to do something like that again," Erik says firmly, staring down at Charles. 

Charles bristles, and glances away. "I thought we agreed I wouldn't be taking orders?" he snaps. 

"I'm not asking as an alpha!" Erik shouts. "Drugging me so that you can go off and do whatever the hell you want is not equal partnership, Charles! That's you doing to me what you're so afraid I'm going to do you! Taking away my goddamn choice!"

"You couldn't have walked ten feet on that leg," Charles tells him calmly, looking up at him again. "You didn't _have_ a choice, and I didn't either. I'm not the one that took it away." 

Erik drops to his knees in front of him, wincing as the move pulls at the wound on his leg, but holding to his resolve. He grabs Charles' hand in his, and tugs him slightly forward. "Partners, remember?" he asks. "It has to go both ways. We're in this together now, alright?"

"I have an advantage you don't," Charles insists. "They can't kill me." 

"Just because you're not supposed to get killed doesn't mean that you can't be," Erik says, running a hand carefully through Charles' hair, and frowning at the healing wound. "You seem to be making a pretty good try of it." 

"You're one to talk," Charles tells him. 

"Charles, please, promise me," Erik says, leaning forward to press their foreheads together, sounding so exhausted it makes Charles' heart ache. 

He lets himself lean against Erik, bringing his hands up around the alpha's neck. "Erik, I—" 

Charles breaks off as something cold and wet starts slipping around them, and he reluctantly pulls back to look down. Water is seeping in from the entrance of the cave at an alarming rate, rain suddenly falling in torrents where a moment ago the sky had been startlingly clear. 

"It's a flash flood," Erik says urgently, pulling himself and Charles to his feet. "We need to get out of here now." 

Charles twists out of his grip, pulling back to pick up the bow and quiver as Erik reaches out to grab him again. Charles barely has it in his hands and Erik is dragging him outside. The water is already three feet high by the time they make it out of the cave. Water is rushing in from around the rocks, freezing cold and nearly black. It's rising impossibly fast. 

It appears the Gamemakers would like them to get moving. 

"Can you swim?" Erik asks him. 

"In theory," Charles tells him. "I've read—" 

"I was afraid you were going to say that," Erik interrupts wryly, moving to keep a firm grip on Charles' waist as they slosh through the rising water. 

"Am I to assume that you can swim then?" Charles asks. 

"Well enough," Erik says, holding Charles a bit tighter against him as the other man starts shivering from the cold. Erik stumbles a bit as his leg protests at their pace. "Better when I have two good legs." 

"You should have put on more of the medicine," Charles tells him, twisting to look back. "Oh, god, we left it behind—" 

"It's okay, doesn't matter," Erik assures him, pulling him forward again. "We won't need it again." 

"No, I guess not," Charles says, realizing he's right. This night was only ending one of two ways—inside of a cushy capital med evac, or dead. 

The water is coming in from all directions, swirling up around their waists. And when Charles glances back, he sees the waves coming in from behind the rocks of their abandoned cave. "Erik," he warns. 

Erik surges forward, and Charles gasps as he's slammed against the trunk of a tree, Erik pressed up tightly behind him. Erik reaches around him and the tree, neatly pinning him between as the water rushes towards them. It slams across their backs and over their heads, before evening out and raising the water level nearly to their necks. 

"We have to move faster," Erik tells him.

Charles brushes the hair out of his eyes as Erik pulls him close against him. The forest has turned into a lake in minutes, and the rain is pouring down so hard he can hardly see more than five feet in front of him. "Do you know where we're going?" Charles asks, as Erik tugs him along. 

"They have to be flushing us back to the Cornucopia," Erik says. 

"The last tribute will be there," Charles agrees. 

"Do we know who it is?" Erik asks him. 

"Shaw, or Emma," Charles says, shivering as the cold water starts to sink into his skin. 

"So it's not going to be easy, either way," Erik says. 

Charles tries not to think of Emma standing there looking regal as she tells him to go ahead and run. "No," he agrees. "It won't be." 

He has to tilt his head back now to breathe as the water rises, and Erik tries to hold him higher but it's hard enough to keep their balance in the current without adding more strain. "Here," Erik says, dragging them up against a wall of earth. "I'm going to lift you up there, then you can help me up okay?" 

Charles nods, reaching out to grab onto a tree root sticking out from the dirt. Erik grabs his foot and boosts him up and his hand grips the wet grass on the plateau, before finally pulling himself up and over and disappearing from sight. 

There's the sound of an aborted cry and Erik goes silent and still, pulling himself up against the wall to hide from view. He can just barely hear Charles' voice, and it sounds like he's claiming to be alone. 

But he's not.

Erik reaches up and grabs onto the tree roots, pulling himself up slowly, ignoring the pain throbbing through his leg. The freezing water has numbed it some at least. He pulls himself over the edge as quickly as possible, knowing he'll have to go on the offensive as soon as he gets to his feet. 

He pulls himself up into the clearing and then forces himself up on his unsteady legs. 

"Erik Lehnsherr." 

Erik would know that slithery tone anywhere, and he glares through the rain at Shaw. Charles looks angry rather than scared, and that's the only reason Erik decides to hold his ground for now instead of throwing himself straight at the rival alpha. 

"Fancy seeing you here," Shaw continues politely. 

"Shaw," Erik says, careful not to look at Charles, to give any indication of their connection—but Shaw isn't stupid, and from his grin, he's already guessed. 

"I have to say, I never thought it would come down to us," Shaw continues. "Me, obviously. But you? I thought you wouldn't last a day. I had believed my greatest opponent would be the lovely Miss Frost, but really, her neck snapped so easily it took hardly any effort at all."

"You bastard," Charles cries, trying to pull free. Shaw grabs one of his wrists, twisting it just shy of snapping the bone. 

"Be still," Shaw tells him cordially, letting his gaze travel over him, taking in the bow and quiver. 

"I swear to you, Shaw—" Erik yells. 

"Ah, but then it looks like you've had help, haven't you, Erik?" Shaw asks, grinning slyly, as he takes the bow and throws it aside. "And here I'd thought he'd been playing coy all this time, when really he's been running around with you." 

Shaw leans towards Charles as though about to impart some secret between friends. "You probably don't realize this, Charles, but Erik is hardly a proper alpha. You see, his daddy got blown up, so he was raised by his beta bitch of a mother, and it quite screwed him up." 

"Let him go, Shaw," Erik demands. 

"It's not as though you'd know what to do with him," Shaw says, nuzzling the side of Charles' neck. Charles shudders and tries to inch away, but Shaw just laughs and twists his wrist a bit further. "You haven't even claimed him yet. I can tell. Should I show you how it's done before you die?" 

Erik rushes forward, and Shaw grins, roughly pushing Charles out of their way. Charles lands hard on the slick grass as Erik and Shaw collide, and he can just make out the glint of a knife between them. He blinks the rain out of his eyes, searching for his bow, and that's when he spots them. 

There is a pair of eyes watching him from the trees. Charles glances back to check on Erik, but he has managed to roll safely away from Shaw and they are circling one another. Charles gets to his feet and steps forward hesitantly, turning to look back towards the trees, taking in the strange blue spark of those eyes with disbelief. "Emma?" he asks hesitantly. 

The only response is a low growl, and then they come out of the trees, five calculating creatures just a bit too large to be wolves. The one in front has Emma's eyes—its pale blonde fur gleaming nearly white in the moonlight. There is a collar around her neck with a 1 etched into a bronze tag. Charles' breath catches in his throat and he staggers back. 

They're just muttations, he tells himself, it isn't really them; but he can see them clearly, nonetheless. There are four others following in her wake—he recognizes Cain, the largest, easily, and then Victor, Mortimer, and the girl from District 8 that Shaw had killed. Her eyes are almost silver, her coat shiny and black, and he knows she must be Yuriko. He remembers her from the reaping, that look of absolute disbelief on her face as her name had been called.

"Erik, you need to run!" Charles calls, not daring to move himself this close to them. The Emma creature stops right in front of him, snorting and assessing him. Then she moves around him in dismissal, and starts to run, the others quickly following her lead. 

Of course, Charles realizes. They'll have been programmed to only go after alphas. The Gamemakers leave little to chance. 

Charles spins around to see Shaw halfway to the Cornucopia, but Erik has not wanted to leave him, and Charles knows he'll never reach him before the wolves. "They're not after me! Erik, you have to run!" 

Erik starts running, but heading in the same direction as Shaw is hardly going to keep him safe. Charles moves to grab his bow, stringing an arrow as he runs. He takes out one of the creatures from behind—Yuriko, he thinks, but the others have gotten too far ahead.

He can't see Shaw, but he looks up just in time to see Erik disappear atop the roof of the Cornucopia. The wolves are circling it by the time he reaches it, but they ignore him completely. 

He moves past them and grabs onto the cold metal, pulling himself up to the roof. He hears a thunderous smack, and turns to see Shaw knock Erik down with a punch. He runs his eyes over both of them, and it looks like somewhere along the way Shaw has lost his knife. 

Which means Charles is the only one armed. 

"Shaw!" he shouts, snapping an arrow into place and raising it up. "Stop." 

Shaw looks up, obviously startled to see him, but he recovers fast. He reaches down to grab Erik by the collar of his shirt to drag him back to his feet. He holds Erik up against him, his hands held to his throat, ready to twist. 

"You know, I was quite annoyed with you at first, but now I'm rather impressed," Shaw tells Charles smoothly. "At least I know you won't let it get boring. After all, we'll be spending the rest of our lives together."

"We will," Charles agrees. "Brief a time as that may be." 

Shaw laughs, looking genuinely pleased by his defiance. "Are you going to shoot me then, little omega?" he asks. 

"Yes," Charles replies evenly, his grip on the bow steady. 

"You sure you won't hit Erik?" Shaw asks. 

"I'm sure," Charles says, and Erik inclines his head slightly; his eyes granting permission for Charles to take the shot. 

"Could be awkward, if you kill him instead," Shaw insists slyly. "What will we tell the kids?"

Charles looses the arrow in response, but while it hits his mark, it bounces harmlessly off the grinning Shaw's shoulder with a strange ripple of energy. "Neat trick, huh?" Shaw asks. 

Body armor, Charles realizes sickly. It is undoubtedly what he had received at the feast, and he curses himself for not destroying the other offerings, or attempting to take them for himself. 

He knows if he takes a single step towards Shaw, he'll snap Erik's neck. He'll do it even if he doesn't. "Shaw, wait," Charles says shakily. "If you kill him now you won't get to claim me here. The Games will be over." 

"Charles," Erik says warningly, and Charles turns to meet his eyes again. Erik looks entirely unafraid, trying to warn Charles of something, though he isn't sure what.

"While that does sound appealing, I know better than to leave an enemy alive, and I've underestimated Erik once before," Shaw tells him, adjusting the grip the he has on Erik's throat. Erik slams his head back the moment Shaw moves, knocking him back a step before spinning around to grab Shaw's arm and wrench him to the side, dragging him over the edge of the Cornucopia. 

Charles rushes forward as Shaw drops over the edge, still clinging to Erik's arm. He grabs onto the back of Erik's shirt to keep Shaw from pulling him over with him. 

"Who knew you had it in you?" Shaw says to Erik wonderingly, as the creature with Emma's eyes stalks up behind him, and drags him out of Erik's grasp by his legs. 

Erik turns and pulls Charles' into his arms, pressing a kiss to his temple as he holds him close, and they both try to ignore the sounds of Shaw's screams as the wolves start tearing him apart. Erik drops to sit on the roof and Charles follows him down, clinging onto him. They listen for the sound of the cannon but it doesn't come. 

The wolves are taking their time. They had gotten through that body armor in no time at all, but they haven't moved in for the kill. Charles sees a flash of Shaw's pain glazed eyes amidst the flurry of fur, and realizes what he must do. 

Charles pulls away from Erik, getting back to his feet. "Charles?" Erik asks. 

"It's time to end this," Charles tells him, shakily stringing the bow. Erik stands beside him, wrapping himself around him like a cloak—Erik's hands cover his, though he lets Charles aim. 

They let the arrow fly together.


	5. Chapter 5

Only moments after the last cannon sounds, Erik and Charles are pulled aboard a Capital ship. They stand together, rain soaked and exhausted—Charles is gripping his bow so tightly his hands are stark white. 

So it's somewhat understandable that the beta attendants approach them rather like one would animals in the wild. 

They gently take the bow and arrows, and try to pull them apart, but Charles has replaced his grip on the bow with Erik's hand. Erik holds on just as tightly, and the attendants sigh. 

One of them is very young, with dark black hair and eyes the color of hazelnuts. He can see strange markings along her arms and shoulders, tattoos meant to stand in for wings—the people in the Capital did the strangest things. "We need to look you both over to fix you up, okay?" she asks. 

Charles knows they must look like a mess. His clothes are practically torn to pieces, barely being held together, and Erik stands soaked in his thin t-shirt, blood sliding down the collar from a steadily bleeding cut on his eye. Still, it's very hard to let him go. 

"You need to check Erik's leg," he tells them. 

"Charles," Erik says. "I'm fine, you—"

"Don't worry, we're going to take care of you both," the young beta says, reaching out to gently take Charles' hand while the male beta moves towards Erik. "Everything's going to be fine now." 

Charles sees Erik drop from the corner of his eye, the male beta catching him easily. He opens his mouth to call for him but there is a sudden prick against his wrist and then the world tilts sideways and disappears.

* * * * *

Charles wakes up in a white room. He tries to sit up, but his hands are restrained to the bed with lined cuffs. He pulls at them anxiously, before the young beta that had been with them on the ship appears at his side. 

"It's okay," she says, reaching out to undo them. "It was just while you were being treated, you kept trying to get out of the bed, even drugged to the gills." 

Charles crosses his arms as soon as they are free, and watches her warily. They had brought him to a room something like this when he first was chosen, and when he glances down at his arms and legs he realizes he's received the same treatment again. 

He'd been covered in bruises, cuts and scrapes, and his skin had been so dried out it was practically peeling. Now it is entirely unmarked and unbelievably soft, and when he reaches for his forehead, he can no longer feel the wound he'd received from Mortimer. 

"Where's Erik?" he asks, glancing towards the other side of the room. There is a glass wall and he can see people moving past, but there's no sign of Erik. "Is he okay?" 

"He's fine," she says. "He's being treated too. The wound on his leg was a bit more serious, but they patched him up fine." 

"I need to see him," Charles says, starting to get up. 

The girl places a hand on his chest. "You can't," she says. "I need to take you to prepare you for the ceremony tonight." 

Charles frowns. They never separate the omega from the alpha once they've been claimed—oh, but of course, Charles realizes. He hasn't actually been claimed. 

He is perhaps the first omega ever chosen for the Games to make it out without being claimed by a single alpha out of the twenty-four. 

"He's sedated again anyway himself," the beta tells him. "Nearly killed Darwin because he wouldn't let him see you."

"All the more reason I should see him," Charles protests. 

"You'll see him tonight," she says. "The President himself had the idea. We're doing it proper for once." 

"Proper," Charles repeats, feeling a strange sort of dread at the President's personal interest in him and Erik. 

"A true bonding ceremony," she explains. 

The After Game show has been the same for years. The alpha and the omega are tied together in an abbreviated bonding ceremony, before sitting back to watch the horror of the Games play out in front of them again on a big screen. 

The whole county knows the omegas aren't virgins by that point, had watched it play out, so there's been no need to stand on ceremony. 

Charles has inadvertently made himself a special case. This is a publicity stunt, an obvious one, but it's more than just that. In the arena, Erik had accepted him as an equal, and that just wasn't done. 

A traditional ceremony would shatter any such illusions for all to see. He would have to make a pledge of obedience, of faithfulness, while Erik promised to provide for and protect him. It would slot them both neatly back into their expected roles.

"Don't look so worried," the beta laughs. "We'll forgo the blindfold since you've already seen him." 

Charles pales, scrubbing a hand anxiously through his hair. The beta looks chagrined. "I'm only kidding," she says gently. "We don’t even do that here in the Capital anymore. We're quite civilized, I assure you." 

Charles turns to look at her, assessing her carefully. She seems amiable enough, though a bit vacant in that way most Capital people are. "What did you say your name was?" he asks, adjusting his tone and smiling sweetly. 

She snorts. "I didn't," she says, and she is perhaps not as vacant as he'd thought. "But it's Angel, and don't bother trying the innocent thing with me. I know very well how dangerous you are. Nearly had a heart attack when I saw you standing there with that bow." 

She crosses her arms, returning Charles' assessing gaze with her own. "Usually it's just the alphas we knock out first thing, cause they get a bit touchy anyone gets near their new omega," she says. "But this go round everyone was just as concerned with you." 

"I don't know whether to be flattered or insulted," Charles says. "I certainly don't have any wish to hurt anyone." 

"Maybe not, but you made it pretty clear you were capable of it," Angel says. "My question is, are you going to cause any problems for me? Or are you going to let me do my job and I'll get you to your alpha just as soon as I can?" 

Charles' whole body is thrumming with one thought: _find Erik_. 

But he's brought enough unwanted attention down on himself already, and defying the Capital further now will not do him or Erik any good. 

"I won't cause problems," Charles promises. 

"Good," Angel says, grabbing a short white robe from a nearby chair. She hands it over to him, and he puts it on. She threads her arm through his as he stands, and leads him out into the hall. 

The room she brings him to does not look like it even belongs in the same building as the white room they've just left behind. It is decorated in garish reds and golds, a large vanity placed at one wall. Angel closes the door behind them, and sits him down in front of it. There is a plate of food sitting on the surface. 

"Help yourself," Angel tells him. 

Charles grabs a piece of the fruit, eating it carefully. After days with limited food, he doesn't want to risk eating so much he gets sick on live television. He grins a little at the thought—then again, it would certainly put a damper on the President's idea of a traditional wedding.

"Everyone's quite excited," Angel tells him, like she is confiding a secret. "We've never gotten to assist in a proper wedding before. Usually the newlyweds are already quite well acquainted, if you know what I mean." 

"Hmm," Charles says dismissively, frowning at all the equipment laid out across the vanity, unsure of what any of it is supposed to do. He hopes Angel is not the type to dress him in something ridiculous, or worse yet, hardly anything. 

"But this," Angel continues. "It's an honest to god love story." 

Charles looks up then, frowning at Angel's reflection in the mirror. "Love story?" he echoes. 

"Uh huh," she says, as she brutally runs a brush through his hair. "I swear I stopped breathing when you led the Careers away from Erik. And then, when he showed up to save you from Cain! I can't tell you how relieved I was. Well, I mean, you were probably more relieved than me. Obviously." 

"You were relieved?" Charles repeats. He knows that typically, Capital audiences are never happier than when an omega is caught—though he supposes there are few that would admit to it.

"Oh, we all were! No one was rooting for Cain, and anyway, you belonged to Erik by then. I mean, yeah, there were a lot of snide comments still going around about him, like, 'they've accidentally thrown a beta into the Games!' Which, don't get me started, because betas can kick ass anyway. But to me it was obvious what was happening from the start." 

Charles frowns as he tries to replay her comments and make some kind of sense of them. She's not even stopping between words to breathe. "What was obvious?" he asks, deciding not to protest the whole 'belonged to Erik' thing, as he was already determined to play the part of the good little omega tonight. 

"He's your true match, baby," Angel says. "Who knows the last time that's happened? Certainly never during the Games. All partnerships are arranged these days, it just doesn't happen this way anymore. That's the one thing being a beta in the Capital gets you, nobody cares one bit who you choose to love." Angel frowns. "Well, I mean, so long as it's another beta, obviously." 

Charles turns away from the mirror. "Must be nice," he says. 

"Yeah, but you got pretty lucky, huh?" Angel asks softly. "I see a lot of omegas come through here, and most them…most of them are broken, and most of the alphas, well, they like 'em that way." 

Angel runs her hands through his hair, fanning it out, before pushing it back down. "But you, you weren't ever going to be broken, you made that clear," she tells him. "Even if someone had claimed you, they wouldn't have really had you. Not unless you wanted them to." Angel laughs. "Put like that I guess it's not really luck, is it? Well, getting Erik maybe, but the rest of it, that's all you." 

Charles frowns, keeping his eyes on his hands, unsure how he should respond. He's grown so used to having his every word recorded, that he isn't quite convinced someone isn't still listening in. Angel might even be leading him on, trying to entrap him into saying something against the Games, against treatment of omegas, against the Capital. 

"Finding Erik was definitely luck," Charles says after a moment. "I'm sure any other omega would have reacted just the same in my situation." 

"I'm sure they wouldn't have," Angel says. "And I've got the last 73 Games to back me up." 

Charles looks up to glare at her. "We both did what we were supposed to." 

"If you say so," Angel says. "But it's not something anyone else has ever done. Not what either of you did." 

Charles stops paying attention to her chatter then, simply letting her arrange him how she wants. When she's finally done, she leads him to the full-length mirror in the corner, grinning excitedly. "Well? What do you think?" 

Charles thinks it could certainly be worse. She's dressed him in tight black pants with a white stripe up either side, and a plain white dress shirt. The only somewhat eccentric item is a purple velvet waistcoat, with gold crested buttons done up all along the front. 

He'd put his foot down when she'd attempted to use purple eyeliner. 

"It's perfect, just how I always imagined it," Charles tells her. "Can I see Erik now?" 

Angel crosses her arms, pursing her lips. "You might at least try to sound sincere," she says. 

"You wouldn't believe me anyway," Charles tells her, looking back at the mirror with a sigh. "You've already got me figured out, remember? I really don't care what I'm wearing, I just need to talk to Erik." 

"The ceremony is starting in less than a half hour," Angel tells him. "You'll see him then." 

"Can't I—" Charles starts. 

"They want your reunion on screen," Angel says. "Don't worry, you'll have forever with him after tonight. You just need to get through the next few hours." 

Charles nods, though he can't hide his disappointment. He's never had a single conversation with Erik that wasn't being televised. How were they supposed to know what was real if they couldn't talk without an audience? 

Angel leads him wordlessly to the theater, before passing him off to the technicians there. She hugs him tightly before she leaves, turning to whisper, "be careful" in his ear before she pulls away. The warning brings all his fears to light, and he knows he has to be careful about tonight. The Capital has not been pleased with the outcome of the Games. 

As Angel disappears around the next hall, Charles is left to wonder if all that innocent gossip she has been chattering about this entire time was really her subtle way of weaving him a strategy—an out for him, an excuse. He couldn’t help but fight, because he'd found his true match, and could be with no other. 

If the world already believes it, Charles should be able to sell it. 

He's halfway to believing it himself.

* * * * *

The first time that Erik woke back in the Capital, he had torn free of his restraints and taken Darwin hostage with a needle held to his neck, before demanding they take him to Charles. The hospital staff had been unfazed to the point Erik suspected his reaction was common, and then the room had been flooded with gas and he and Darwin had both dropped to the floor. 

The second time he wakes up back up in the Capital, the restraints holding him down are no longer leather but steel. 

Erik tests them uneasily but does not like his chances of slipping them for a second time. He hates the feeling of helplessness it brings, worse almost than the Games—he was supposed to be a victor now, respected even in the Capital, for all that he was not born here. 

Then again, Genosha had a strange sort of hierarchy at the best of times. Alphas were in charge, of course, but had no love for the others of their type. They wanted to do all they could to limit their competition, and since alphas were unable to give birth, the Capital had no problem sacrificing them to the Games. Erik has the sinking feeling that their opinion of him as nothing but a game piece in an elaborate game has not changed in the least. 

Erik turns and looks out the glass wall of his cell, and he sees any number of people bustling by, most of them betas; he can tell from the strange lack of notable pheromones, with the occasional self-important alpha pushing their way through them. 

Erik often used to think that some day only the betas would be left, with their strange lines of division—only their women can give birth. The most common pairing in the districts was, by necessity, a beta woman and an alpha, though those that could not find a child bearing mate often paired up with whoever was available. As a consequence few beta males were able to get a child bearing mate, since there were rarely enough to go around for the alphas as it was. And though alphas were still born frequently, omegas were becoming more and more rare. 

They were the stuff of fairy tales in the districts—no one expects to get one, and few in Erik's district at least, were willing to wish for the opportunity to try. The few that lived in the district were children and, more often than not, locked away by their parents for their own safety until the Capital came to claim them. 

The contrast between the districts and the Capital is startling. He watches in disbelief as an omega appears and simply moves through the hall, casually at ease. Alphas walk by them without a glance, even, so used to their presence. Things are different here in ways he hasn't quite come to terms with yet, and not all of them necessarily bad. He'd heard stories that the only alphas in the Capital that were not assigned an omega were being punished for one crime or another, or deemed unfit to properly care for one, so nearly every alpha was paired, and presumably, content. 

He wonders if all those alphas feel for their mate what he feels for Charles, and he still can't quite grasp how all those alpha tributes could do the things they do in the Games. Erik would kill for Charles, certainly, and already has—but he'd rather kill himself than hurt him. 

The door to his room slides open, and he is pulled from his musings as a beautiful omega with shoulder length red hair walks in. She nods at him and sits down beside his bed, pushing his blankets back to examine his leg. Erik stares at her, nonplussed. 

"Are you supposed to be in here, with me?" he asks her. "I mean, alone?" 

She raises an eyebrow, before deftly twirling a syringe in the palm of her free hand, lifting it up to display. "You so much as twitch and I'll drop you," she promises. "But I've seen the way you look at Charles, so I'm fairly certain we won't have a problem. Officially yet or not, for all intents and purposes you've already been bonded." 

He realizes then that she's right, he doesn't feel anything more for her than a tingling awareness. There is none of the desperate searing attraction for her that he had upon first seeing Charles—but he refuses to think it's pure biology. It was always going to be Charles for him. 

"I didn't mean it like that," Erik says. It was just that he had never seen an omega without guards before, unless they were in the arena. On the victory tours, they were always ridiculously protected, as though there was anything worse that could be done to them than what the Capital had already endorsed. 

She smiles slightly, as she runs a light over his leg, tracing a nearly invisible scar. "I know you didn't," she says. "I'm Jean, by the way, and yes, I'm allowed to be here. The consensus was you'd be less likely to try and kill me with a syringe than Darwin." 

Erik winces. "How is he?" he asks. 

"He's fine," Jean says. "It was our fault, we underestimated the bond you had with Charles. Generally alphas only go quite that crazy when they've been separated from an omega they've just claimed." 

Jean looks satisfied with his leg, and tucks the covers back over him before getting to her feet. Then she meets his eyes, and holds them. "It's going to take awhile to get out of that mindset—kill or be killed. But you're strong, you'll adjust. And I promise you, the best way to get back to Charles is to do what they tell you." 

Erik nods, and she spins on her heel, starting for the door. 

"Wait," he says. She pauses and turns around. "Are you happy here?" 

"I'm about as happy as I can be here, and luckier than most," Jean says, which doesn't really answer him at all. She grins a little. "I can tell you're not satisfied by that, but tell you what. You come back here in ten years, and I'll ask that question of you. We'll see if you can do better." 

As Jean pushes out the door, he wonders if all those ideals of the obedient, shy and innocent omega were myths perpetuated by the fact that the only ones the districts ever saw were children or teenagers that had been thrown into an arena with 24 combat trained alphas. If Charles and Jean were anything to go by, those certainly didn't seem to be their most obvious traits. 

Erik sighs and leans back on the bed, idly testing the restraints again. He knows that Jean's advice is sound, but he cannot be still. Charles is here somewhere, and he doesn't like that they've been separated. They might be doing anything to him—for one horrible moment Erik wishes he'd pressed the issue and bonded Charles to him already. Coming out of the arena unbonded was unprecedented as far as he knew. The Capital might be planning anything. 

"Still plotting I see," Darwin says, as he comes up the bed. He crosses his arms and glares at Erik. 

Erik doesn't back down, even if he is sorry. "Let me go," he says. 

"Last time I did that, you tried to give me an unscheduled tracheotomy," Darwin says, though he reaches down nonetheless, unlatching Erik's left hand to test his reaction. "You try that again and we're going to send you out on live television on so many drugs you'll be a drooling mess." 

"Understood," Erik says. "Where's Charles?" 

"Now, see, I don't think you do understand or you wouldn't still be asking me that," Darwin says. 

"I just want to know where he is, and if he's alright, and that you're not—" Erik reaches over abruptly, unlatching the restraint on his right wrist. Darwin watches warily. 

"He's fine, I promise," Darwin says. "You'll see him tonight, the President wants you hitched live." 

"Hitched?" Erik repeats. 

"Yeah, bonded, you know? Married?" Darwin explains. 

"You're not taking him—" Erik fights down the surge of relief. He has no reason to trust Darwin is telling him the truth. He'll believe it when he sees Charles. 

"No, of course not," Darwin says. "If we tried to keep you two apart it would probably start a rebellion. Everyone loves a good story, and you two are it." 

Erik nods, and decides to take Jean's advice and see this thing through without bloodshed if possible. "There was an omega in here earlier," he says. "She works here?" 

"You're a Capital citizen now," Darwin tells him with a huff. "Things are different here. Once an alpha has chosen their mate, other omegas no longer interest them. You have Charles, and anyway you were able to restrain yourself even around him, so we weren't worried. Not about _her_ at least. I was a bit worried for myself, but attacks against omegas are practically unheard of here." 

"I figured they'd be—" Erik doesn't even know what he'd thought. 

"Don't look so shocked," Darwin says with a laugh. "We're not all brutes in the Capital, you know." 

"No, that's just how you want the districts," Erik snaps. 

Darwin frowns, but nods. "Yeah, I guess it is," he agrees. "But the districts can't be all that bad, either, right? I mean, you came out okay. Except for the whole trying to kill me thing. But, look, honestly? Things aren't as pretty here as they look, but we're working on it." 

"What do you mean?" Erik demands. He needs to know the risks if he's going to protect Charles here, and he can't do that if everyone keeps pretending everything is fine. No one gives him a straight answer—not even Jean. 

"Look, most omegas aren't allowed to work. It's only with permission of their alpha and only at the same place, so if an alpha does agree it's usually just so they don't have to be parted from them while they work," Darwin says. "But Jean's alpha Dr. Summers got her to work here just because she asked and because she's good at it. He's a decent guy." 

Darwin nods out the glass and Erik turns to look. A nice-looking alpha in a white coat is in the hall with a nurse, and he's strangely familiar. 

"Summers," Erik says, before recognition clicks. "Scott Summers. He was in the Alpha Games, about a decade ago, right? So Jean—" 

"She was too, yeah," Darwin says. "But hey, that's in the past for them. Will be for you and Charles one day too. You can have a life here, if that's what you want. I mean, Jean's the most brilliant person I know. She's a better doctor than Scott, even if we do have to pretend she's a nurse." 

"I thought the victors didn't work," Erik says, looking back at Scott with renewed interest. 

"You'll get plenty of money, so you won't have to, and most don't," Darwin says. "They're not here because they have to be. They're here because they wanted to work with the survivors of the Games."

Darwin nods towards Erik's leg. "It's a good thing for you that they do, too. I don't know anyone else that could have repaired your leg as good as them. You won't even have a limp." 

Erik thinks of the question he'd asked Jean— _are you happy here?_. Her answer suddenly makes a lot more sense. Darwin claims they've moved on, but he does not understand what it is to survive the Games. There's no leaving it behind, and the fact that those two are here every day only proves it. 

"If you're feeling up to it, I want to take you to get you dressed for the wedding," Darwin says. "But no trying to kill me or running off to find Charles, or I'll send you out there in the hospital gown." 

Erik turns to glare at him. "I'll go quietly," he says, because it seems the fastest way to get to Charles. 

To just wait and see him at their wedding. 

It's surreal, and he wishes he could talk to him, without the cameras or the killers stalking them from every single shadow. He wishes he could ask him just once, _is this what you want?_

But whatever Charles' answer would be, he knows it won't change what they must do. 

So maybe it's better not to know.

* * * * *

Charles hears the crowd a moment before he is unceremoniously pushed out onto the stage. Erik appears at the other end—he is dressed almost identically, except he's been given a jacket and his pants do not appear to be quite so unbearably tight. 

More importantly, he looks alive and whole. Charles is throwing himself into his arms before he even realizes that this is exactly the kind of thing he should be doing for the cameras. 

Erik's hands wrap around him just as fiercely, and he turns to whisper in his ear. "Are you alright?" 

Charles nods against him, not wanting to let him go. For a moment he can almost imagine that they are alone—that the buzz of chatter from those watching is as harmless as the chirps of the mockingjays, and that there is no reason he needs to step away.

"Okay, let's save something for the wedding night, shall we?" Janos asks, laughing uproariously along with the crowd. 

Erik turns to glare at him, but Charles forces a laugh. "You're right, of course," Charles says graciously. "It's just been so hard, being away from him." 

The audience eats it up, but Erik watches him shrewdly; not because he thinks he's lying necessarily, but because he's smart enough to know that if Charles is admitting to it in front of an audience, he probably has an ulterior motive.

But Charles has decided to do his best to play his expected part. He knows that is the purpose of this, and he is worried about how dangerously close he and Erik are to wearing the exact same thing—equality is not at all the message Charles suspects the Capital of wanting to impart. If Angel is behind it, he hopes she doesn't get into trouble.

Janos steps away from them with a wink, moving to address the audience. "We have a first in Games history today, folks, we're going to get these two married off right!" 

The audience goes into an uproar, and Erik glances over Charles, wishing that he could know what he's thinking. In the arena Erik knows he'd been the best option, but now that they were out he has no idea if Charles' feelings on the matter have changed—and being forced to marry him in front of hundreds while being televised to the entire country is hardly the best place to ask what he wants. 

Janos returns to stand between them, being sure to face the audience so they can all witness his gleaming smile as he presides over them. "Now, if you'll both join hands," he says. 

Charles captures Erik's hand when he hesitates, and weaves together the fingers of their right hands. He gives an almost imperceptible nod, and Erik relaxes, taking a shaky breath as he tightens his grip on Charles' hand. 

Janos gently ties their hands together with a thick purple cord, knotting it cleanly before letting them go and stepping back. "Erik Lehnsherr, repeat after me," he says, solemn for maybe the first time Charles has ever seen, taking his new responsibility so seriously it's almost comical. "I, the alpha, promise to protect and provide for the omega I have been given." 

"I, the alpha," Erik says, staring at their hands instead of meeting Charles' eyes, "promise to protect and provide for the omega I have been given." 

"I will put his safety above all others, and fight off all challengers, for as long as I live," Janos continues. 

Erik glances up, meeting Charles' steady gaze. "I will put his safety above all others, and fight off all challengers, for as long as I live," he echoes clearly. 

Janos smiles for the crowd, before turning to Charles. "Charles Xavier," he says, and Erik's hand tightens on Charles', realizing that he hadn't even known his last name. "Repeat after me. I, the omega, promise to be faithful and obedient to the alpha I have been given to." 

"I, the omega, promise to be faithful and obedient to the alpha I have been given to," Charles repeats. 

Erik raises an incredulous eyebrow at the promise of obedience, grinning slightly, and Charles has to lower his gaze so he doesn't laugh. He needn't have bothered trying to be discreet, however, as Erik's expression must have been caught on screen—the entire audience picks up on it and laughter roars through the crowd.   
Charles realizes that he and Erik are defying the Capital even now, despite all his best efforts not to. 

Janos himself also looks at a loss what to do now that the crowd is out of his control, and he clears his throat awkwardly. "Uh, yes, quite. And, Charles, if you'll please continue to repeat after me. I promise I will put his well-being above all others, and serve him to the best of my ability, for as long as I live." 

"I promise to put his well-being above all others, and serve him to the best of my ability, for as long as I live," Charles says, looking back up at Erik. Erik is still grinning and Charles can't help but smile back. 

Janos smiles as well, as the attention of the audience is restored to him. "Then if you will please undo the knot," he says, "Erik, you may kiss your omega!" 

Charles and Erik unfold their hands, tugging until the knot comes loose and drops to the ground. Erik catches his hand again, and gently tugs him close, leaning down to kiss him. Charles moves into the kiss, reaching out to place one hand at the back of Erik's neck. He's gasping when they part, and pulls in a dizzying breath as Erik catches him around the waist with a grin. 

The audience is on their feet, clapping wildly, and Janos moves around Erik and Charles to address them. "Citizens of Genosha," he yells. "I give you this year's victor, Erik Lehnsherr, and his omega, Charles!" He reaches back to grab each of their hands, and pull them up. 

"Now, it is time to crown the newlyweds," Janos says brightly. "Citizens, please welcome President Stryker!" 

Charles turns to watch as the wall at the back of the stage splits in two, opening to reveal two chairs that look like thrones, the President walking between them with a pair of crowns in his hand. He's smiling at the audience, but Stryker's eyes are hard when they meet his. 

"Congratulations," Stryker says to them, in some attempt at warmth. He places a thick silver crown atop Erik's head. "For the victor." 

Stryker turns to Charles, smiling tightly as he stops in front of him. He reaches up to place a delicate silver circlet on his head. His smile is some cross between patronizing and loathing. "And for his mate." 

Stryker turns to address the audience. "It's been a very exciting Game this year, wouldn't you all agree?" he asks. The audience screams out their assent. "Well, if our victor and his mate would like to preside, we will begin our viewing of the highlights!" 

Stryker nods to the crowd, before handing the stage off to Janos and disappearing out the side exit. Janos leads them to the throne chairs, and this is the part that Charles has been dreading most. He doesn't want to think about the Games. He has enough horrors of his own there without seeing what all the others had faced. 

Once they are seated, Erik reaches out across the space between their chairs, and grabs his hand. Charles glances at him in surprise, and Erik smiles at him briefly, before returning his eyes to the screen. They were required to watch—just like everyone else. All Games coverage was mandatory. 

The recap of the bloodbath takes twenty-two minutes, as they are dedicated to showing every single death during this finale of the Games, and there are so many deaths to display from that first day. It is not long after that, however, that Charles begins to see what Angel had meant when she mentioned the love story. 

Because that's exactly what it appears to be, from their first meeting on he and Erik are the center of the Games footage—other tributes shown mostly when searching for Charles, with Erik cast as the invisible underdog, largely ignored because no one but the audience knew of the threat he presented. 

Erik's hand tightens painfully on his when he realizes that Charles had deliberately led the others away from him, and Charles grips just as tightly back when he watches Shaw kill Emma. 

Shaw had cleanly snapped her neck, so when the Capital came to retrieve her she was laid out in the grass like some sort of sleeping beauty—every bit as perfect and unmarked as she had been at the start. Charles thinks that's how she would have wanted it. 

The final shot is them standing there together in the rain, letting loose the arrow that will end the Games. 

Janos commiserates with the audience for awhile about the loss of all those brave tributes, before grinning broadly once more as he returns everyone's attention back to Charles and Erik. "I think that, truly, these have been the best Games so far, wouldn't you all agree?" he asks them. The audience screams out their agreement, and Janos waves to Erik and Charles. "Then I suggest you give our survivors a lovely send off as they head off for their wedding night!" 

Erik ushers Charles behind stage the moment Janos waves them off, leaving the deafening audience gratefully behind him. "Charles, we really need to—" 

"There you are!" Angel cries, reaching out to grab Charles by the arm. "Come with me." 

Erik reaches out to grab Charles' hand, holding him on the other side. "What's going on?" he demands. 

"Sorry, sir," Angel says, glancing down. "We're on a tight schedule, I'm afraid. The train is leaving tonight for your dinner at District 1, so you'll have to go straight there." 

Erik frowns but nods. "Then lead the way," he says. 

Angel hesitates, before letting out a grateful breath when she spots Azazel by the drink table, slamming down vodkas like they're soda water. "Azazel," she calls. "Please make sure that Mr. Lehnsherr gets to the train on time. Charles and I will be along in just a moment." 

Azazel says something that may or may not be assent, but nevertheless satisfies Angel. "We'll be right along behind you," she promises Erik. "But he needs to pack his things." 

"I don't see why—" Erik starts. 

"Azazel," Angel hisses impatiently. 

Azazel sighs and comes over to start ushering Erik away. "Come on, lover boy," he says. "You'll see him soon enough." 

"We'll talk on the train!" Charles calls after him, as Angel starts dragging him off in the other direction. "Angel, what is this about? I don't have anything to pack." 

"When I told you to be careful, I didn't mean for you to make a mockery of our centuries old binding ceremony," Angel hisses at him. 

"I didn't!" Charles protests. "I didn't laugh once. I can't be responsible for everyone else." 

"You're going to be held responsible whether you are or not," she snaps, continuing to lead him along. "You're a vacant little omega, okay? Everything you did you did for Erik. Say nothing else." 

"What—?" Before Charles can figure out what she's talking about, she pushes him inside the dressing room and closes the door behind him. 

Charles understands her words a moment later, when he sees Stryker sitting at the vanity, absentmindedly arranging a comb on the surface. "It's Charles, isn't it?" Stryker asks, without looking up. "I do have such trouble with names."

"Yes," Charles says. 

"Charles Lehnsherr, now, I suppose," Stryker continues. He finally turns around, getting to his feet. He uses his height to his advantage as he steps closer, delicately plucking the circlet off of Charles' head. "I think we can stop pretending now, don't you?" 

"I'm not sure what you mean," Charles tells him politely. 

Stryker glares at him, tossing the circlet onto the vanity. "You may have the advantage of not being expendable, _Charles_ ," Stryker says, "but the same cannot be said of your new husband, wouldn't you agree? We could always find you a new alpha were something to happen to him. Perhaps one more suited to keeping you in line."

"Erik has done nothing against you," Charles says. 

"And that sister of yours," Stryker continues, undaunted. "You always spoke so fondly of her during the Games. We wouldn't want anything to happen to her." 

"Sir, I really don't understand what it is I've done," Charles tells him, his tone unfailingly earnest. "I thought I was supposed to run, to fight back. If I've done something to offend you, I promise I will fix it however I can."

"Don't flash those blue eyes at me," Stryker snaps, narrowing his own. "The kind of damage you have caused is not so easily fixed as that, and you're far too clever not to have realized that on your own." 

Charles lowers his eyes, though every instinct he has is telling him to hold the other man's gaze. He can't afford to choose his pride over Erik and Raven. "What is it that you want?" he asks. 

"Be a good little omega," Stryker sneers. "Smile big, have babies, behave yourself."

Stryker runs a hand over Charles' shoulders as he moves around him to leave, and leans down beside his ear. "Be perfect," he whispers. "Because I'll be watching."


	6. Chapter 6

Angel ushers him to the waiting train, asking him question after question along the way. Charles decides not to answer her. He's just remembered he needs to be careful of those he chooses to trust. 

"I know you don't think so," Angel tells him, "but I'm trying to help you." 

"What is it you think I need help with?" Charles asks politely. He spots Erik standing with the other beta attendant, Darwin, he guesses, and lets out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding to see him alive and well. 

"You know very well," Angel snaps. "I have to tell you—"

"Angel," Darwin shouts, running up to them. "There's a problem with the train. We've been delayed." 

Angel goes tense. "Did they say what?" 

"Some security alarm was tripped, it's probably nothing," Darwin says. "You know how they overreact." 

Erik jogs over after Darwin, hesitantly reaching out for Charles. Charles moves away from Angel and grabs his hand. "Are you alright?" Charles asks. "What's going on?" 

"I'll go find out," Angel says, heading off. "Darwin, keep them here until the alert is called off."

"I'm fine," Erik says, eyeing Charles in concern. "But you're shaking. What's happened? I thought you had to pack?" 

Charles glances over at Darwin and Erik frowns. He tightens his hold on Charles' hand. "We're going to go for a walk for some privacy," Erik says. 

"You really should stay here," Darwin says warily. 

"You can watch us if you want, but I'd like some privacy with my new husband," Erik tells him, his tone leaving no room for argument. Whatever Angel's instructions, they all know that Darwin cannot command Erik to do anything. 

Erik leads him away from Darwin and the other attendants, far enough that there is no danger of being overheard but still close enough they can be seen. Coming to a stop, Erik reaches out to tilt Charles' face up, before letting his hands fall away the next moment, unsure of his welcome. "Now, what's wrong? What's happened?" 

"I just…" Charles breaks off, looking down the length of the train. "I just wanted to have a conversation with you that wasn't being broadcast." 

"Charles, if this is about the ceremony, the obedience pledge—I want you   
to know, I'm not going to hold you to any of that," Erik says. "I know we have to be together, but how is up to us, okay? The alliance we swore to each other in the arena means more to me than those words we had to say out there, even if I have to admit, for me they were every bit as true." 

Charles leans up, wrapping his arms loosely Erik's neck to kiss him gently. "You," Charles promises, "are not the problem." 

"Then what's wrong?" Erik asks, leaning down to press their foreheads together. 

"There are things you don't know about me," Charles says reluctantly. "Things I couldn't tell you during the Games. You need to know what you're getting into. Honestly, Erik, you're the one that shouldn't want to be with me—" 

"That's never going to happen," Erik says gently. "Just talk to me." 

Charles sucks in a breath, and nods. "The President wanted to see me, that's where Angel took me," he says. 

"The President," Erik repeats, going tense. "What did he want?" 

"To warn me to behave," Charles says. "I don't think he likes the message we're sending to the people." 

"Oh god," Erik says, closing his eyes. "The ceremony. I've made it worse, haven't I? He was trying to make a point with that wedding." 

"That really depends on how you look at it," Charles says. "Worse for him certainly, but not necessarily for everyone else." 

"Why didn't he come to me?" Erik asks in frustration, stepping away. "Why keep me out of it?" 

"Because you're an alpha," Charles says. "If he'd threatened to take me away from you, that would have been considered a challenge and he would have made an enemy of you. He'd rather make an enemy of me, because he thinks I can be controlled." 

Erik grins wryly. "Doesn't know you very well, does he?" he asks, before shaking his head. "And he's made an enemy of me anyway. We haven't even done anything, why is he wasting time threatening us?" 

Charles winces. "That's the other thing," he says. "His suspicions of me aren't entirely unfounded. There's a reason no other omega has done as I did. They haven't had the same advantages." 

"What do you mean?" Erik asks, frowning over at him. 

"My sister, Raven," Charles says. "She was being trained as a Career, though she never had the intention to volunteer. And she, in turn, passed some of her training along to me. In secret, of course. If alpha training is technically not allowed, omega training is absolutely forbidden." Charles laughs and looks away. "I was supposed to be sheltered, kept inside, they were afraid one of the alphas would try something if I went out on my own, but Raven. she never—she never treated me that way. She was an alpha and I was an omega and it didn't matter at all." 

Charles crosses his arms, and looks at his feet. "I mean, don't get me wrong, she was overprotective, but she didn't coddle me. Instead she taught me to defend myself." 

"She taught you well," Erik says softly. 

Charles smiles grimly. "And I'll never see her again," he says. "Maybe a glimpse of her in the crowd, if I'm lucky." 

"Why can't you see her?" Erik asks. 

"Omegas aren't allowed to return to their families," Charles says. "The alphas can see their families but—" 

"The alphas can see whoever they want, and take their omega with them," Erik interrupts. "And I can't think of anyone I'd like to meet in District 1 more than your sister."

Charles smiles brightly, half reaching out to tug absently at Erik's sleeve. "You're wonderful to offer, but we can't," he says, resolutely shaking his head. "They're going to be watching us, and I don't want to lead them to Raven or my father." 

"You never mentioned your father," Erik says, reaching up to brush Charles' hair out of his eyes. 

"I never mentioned him because I didn't want to draw the Capital's attention to him," Charles says. "He doesn't agree with the Capital administration—before they came to take me away, he'd been planning to smuggle me out of District 1." 

"But you didn't let him," Erik realizes. 

"I figured whether I was chosen for the Games or not, it would be more useful for them to have someone in the Capital than in hiding," Charles agrees. 

"Wait, are you telling me that—are you part of some resistance?" Erik asks in disbelief, pulling back to assess him. 

"We're hardly organized enough to call ourselves that," Charles says. "We're just…free-thinkers." 

"They mentioned that your father was the Mayor of District 1 in the Games," Erik says. "I would think he'd be loyal to the Capital." 

"He became Mayor so he could use his position to help people, not lord it over them," Charles says. "It gives him more freedom to travel between our district and the Capital than anyone else. I know how the other districts see us, but not everyone in District 1 supports the Capital." 

Erik glances away, looking back towards the train. He knows he shouldn't be all that surprised—he'd suspected as much in the arena in any case. You didn't pick a bow up for the first time and shoot like Charles did, Erik had known that even as Charles tried to play it off as beginner's luck. 

Of course the President would guess it too. 

"What does this mean for us?" Erik asks quietly. 

"I don't know," Charles says. "I say we play our parts for now, and hope the President gets bored of watching us." 

"Is that what this is, Charles?" Erik asks, his voice breaking slightly over the words. "You're playing a part?" 

"Erik," Charles says, grabbing Erik's hand to tug him towards him again. "I'd be lying if I said I weren't. But it's a part I'm playing for them, and it doesn't change how I feel about you." 

Erik wraps his hands around Charles' waist and leans down to press a kiss on the top of his head. "And how is that, liebling?" he asks. 

"You know I—" Charles starts. 

"The train is ready," Angel says, abruptly appearing beside them. She ignores the glares they both throw her way. 

"What was wrong?" Erik asks, keeping his hold on Charles. 

"They think a bird got caught in one of the cars and tripped the alarm. Probably just some mockingjay," Angel says, before glancing at Charles. "Or a raven." 

"We really should be going, we're already behind schedule," Darwin adds, as he steps up beside Angel. 

Erik and Charles follow Angel and Darwin back to the train. They train pulls away almost as soon as the doors shut behind them, and Charles glances out the window to watch the landscape fly by. Erik turns to face Angel, narrowing his eyes in her direction. "I'd like it if you could show us to our room," he says. 

"Darwin will show you, of course," Angel says. "Charles needs to come with me first." 

"And why would I allow that, considering what happened the last time you went off with my husband?" Erik snaps. 

"I was under orders," Angel says coolly. "They were not presented to me as being optional, or perhaps I would have chosen not to follow them." 

"But you think I'm giving you an option?" Erik asks dangerously. 

Angel glares up at him. "It's your wedding night, and I've been instructed to follow the old traditions. Charles needs to be prepared, and then will be brought to you." 

"It's okay, Erik," Charles assures him, though he keeps his eyes on the window. 

"No it's not," Erik snaps. "I've had just about enough of this, we're bound now, you can't just—"

Charles places a hand on Erik's arm, glancing up at him in concern. "Erik, we talked about this," he says gently, and his previous words echo between them: _we play our parts_. 

Erik nods reluctantly, before pulling Charles slightly aside. "Ten minutes, and then I'm coming to find you," he promises.

Charles nods, and follows Angel as she moves into the next train car. "Are you really taking me to get me 'ready'?" he asks her wryly, once they leave Erik and Darwin behind.

"I really have been ordered to follow the old traditions, yes," Angel says. "But the true purpose is that I must speak with you." 

Charles sighs. "Angel, couldn't this wait? Erik and I—" 

"I had to get you away from him now," Angel interrupts sharply. "If I'd waited till he finished claiming you, he'd never have let you out of his sight." 

Charles narrows his eyes at her. "And why is that necessary, exactly?" he demands. 

Angel glances back towards the car they just left, frowning as Darwin appears in the window, waving her back. "Oh, I'll just let her deal with you," she snaps, hitting the release on the nearest door and shoving him inside. 

A wrinkly figure with long matted grey hair stands beside the bed in the room, holding a cane in one hand and a blaster in the other. Charles breaks out into a disbelieving grin and launches himself in her arms, with enough force he probably would have knocked her over had she been anywhere near as old as she appeared. 

"Raven," he says desperately, pulling her closer. "I thought maybe I'd never see you again." 

"Don't be ridiculous," she snaps, wrapping her arms around him. "Did you really think I wouldn't come after you? I would have broken into that arena single-handedly if I could have found out where they were holding the damn thing." 

Charles frowns as he pulls away. "You shouldn't be here, though, Raven! That security alert was for you, wasn't it? Angel might recognize you, and I know you like your disguises but—"

"Angel is one of us, and the room's been debugged," Raven assures him. "Don't be so paranoid, we're heading straight back to District 1. No one will ever know I was gone." 

"It's too risky," Charles snaps. "I can't believe father let you come—" 

"You're my brother. Of course I was going to come," Raven says, hugging him close again. "And I'm so proud of you, Charles. You were amazing." She pulls back and looks him over. "Now tell me, is your Erik really as wonderful as he seems? Because if that was all some act for the cameras, I'd be happy to kill him for you." 

"Not that it isn't sweet of you to offer," Charles says wryly, "but he really is that wonderful." 

Raven frowns. "So you're staying with him?" she asks, looking as though she doesn't know whether to be relieved and upset. "Say the word, Charles, and I'll get us both out of here." 

"No, I want to stay with him," Charles tells her. "I'll be more use this way. I can pass messages through the districts, and—" 

"Stop thinking about that," Raven demands. "Pretend none of that matters, that you have no responsibilities to anyone but yourself, and then ask yourself: do you want to stay with him?" 

"Yes," Charles says without hesitation. 

Raven smiles shakily. "Okay then," she says, reaching out to grab his arm and push up his sleeve. "Plan B it is."

Before Charles can ask what she's doing, she jams a hypo into his arm and injects him with something. He pulls away with a startled cry. "What the hell was that?" 

"A birth control capsule, undetectable so don't worry," Raven says dismissively. "I know you don't want any little trouble-making Charles' running around quite yet and it's not like they'll give you one in the Capital unless you've already had twenty kids." 

"You could have asked!" Charles protests. 

"You want it out?" Raven asks. 

"No," Charles admits, rubbing his arm as he watches her warily. "But still. A little warning next time?" 

"Next time I have to keep my brother from getting knocked up?" Raven asks incredulously. "Sure, I'll keep that in mind." 

The door behind them bursts open, and Erik throws himself in, Angel stumbling in guiltily behind him. Erik's fear turns to bemusement as he watches the old woman with Charles push him behind her and step forward like she's going to take him on. 

Angel quickly goes back into the hall, pulling the door shut behind her. 

"Um," Erik says. "Sorry? I heard you shouting." 

"I'm fine," Charles assures him. "Erik, this is—"

"The maid, lovely. I've just lost me husband, and was just…just trying to get through the night, but your husband here, he showed me such kindness and I'm afraid I quite lost control of meself—" Raven holds her hand dramatically to her heart. 

"Erik, this is my sister Raven," Charles interjects smoothly. "Attempting a truly shameful Capital accent. Really, Raven. You're supposed to be a master of disguise." 

Raven turns to glare at him. "Way to blow my cover, Charles," she snaps. 

Erik stares at her. "I thought you'd be…younger," he says. 

"You got something against old people?" Raven demands, narrowing her eyes at him. 

"Raven," Charles sighs. "She's not supposed to be here, so this is her idea of a disguise. One that I suspect would wash away if we were subject to so much as a light rain." 

Raven crosses her arms, but continues to glare at Erik. "And I'm sixteen," she admits grudgingly. "But I can still kick your ass." 

"I wouldn't doubt it," Erik says warily. 

"And if you so much as mildly upset my brother, I'll kill you," she adds, tapping her weapon indiscreetly against her leg. "And not pleasantly." 

"She's kidding," Charles assures him. 

"I'm really really not," Raven says. 

"In that case, it's a pleasure to meet you," Erik says politely, holding out his hand. Raven eyes it warily, and doesn't uncross her arms. Erik lets his hand drop and turns to Charles for help. 

"Raven just came to check on me," Charles says helpfully. "And shoot me up with contraceptives." 

"What?" Erik demands. 

"Stop telling him everything! What is wrong with you?" Raven hisses. "He's an alpha, that's like, against all his alpha-y spread the genes instincts!" 

"Aren't you an alpha?" Erik asks her, crossing his arms in a somewhat more impressive mirror of her pose. 

"Yes," Raven says. "And if by some twist of fate I ever ended up with an omega, I'd expect Charles to kick some sense into me whenever I went all primal."

"Raven, please," Charles says, moving to stand beside Erik. "We can trust him, okay? He knows about us."

"He knows?" Raven demands. "Charles, I love you, but do you not understand the concept of 'secret'?" 

"I couldn't keep this from him," Charles says. "He has a right to know why we're in danger." 

"Speaking of danger," Erik says wryly, "why would you go to the trouble of sneaking on the train when we're on our way to your district anyway?" 

Raven tilts her head up defiantly and says nothing, but Erik feels his heart clench as realizes why she must have come. "You're here for Charles," he says, caught between anger at the thought of another alpha, sister or not, taking away Charles, and the nearly dizzying grief over the fact that if it was what Charles wanted, he'd have to let her. 

Charles leans against him, grabbing his hand. "I'm not going anywhere without you," he promises. 

"You two have it bad, huh?" Raven asks, but she looks reluctantly charmed, as much as she can beneath layers of synthetic wrinkles. 

Angel pushes open the door, leaning in warily. "Raven, if you guys are going to run, it's gotta be now," she says. 

"We're not," Raven says. "We're all going back to District 1." 

Angel nods. "We still need to get you out of sight," she says, apologetically. "Lehnsherr and Charles need to get back to their room and you shouldn't be seen." 

Raven nods, turning to look at her brother. "Charles—" 

He steps forward and hugs her close again. "Go," he says. "Be safe." 

"You have to come see us as soon as we get home, okay?" Raven asks. 

Charles shakes his head, still holding her close. "It's too risky, the President's already threatened you," he tells her. 

"I don't care," Raven says, before looking up to meet Erik's eyes. "I want you to make sure he comes to see us." 

Erik nods, and behind them, Angel huffs impatiently. "The guards are going to be checking on them soon," she says. "They need to be in their room. I'm sorry, Raven, there's no more time. Maybe if Lehnsherr had done as he was told and stayed where he was supposed to, it might have bought us a little more time." 

Erik turns to glare at her. "I was supposed to trust your word?" he snaps. 

"It's okay," Charles says, pulling away. "I mean it, though, Raven. Don't take chances. Be careful." 

"Same to you," she says fondly. "Take care of yourself, okay?" 

Raven slips out the door, and Angel looks back at Erik. "Get yourselves to your room, and stay there," she says. 

After they're gone, Erik looks at Charles, holding out his hand to take his. "Life with you isn't going to be dull, is it?" he asks. 

Charles grabs the outstretched hand with a wry grin. "This?" he says. "This was nothing. Wait till you meet my mother."

* * * * *

Erik leads Charles discreetly towards their room by the hand. They see a few beta servants, but no one questions them, and they manage to get inside unseen by any of the guards. 

There is a feast laid out for them on a table for two, and Erik hadn't realized just how hungry he'd been until he saw it. They had fed him while he was in the hospital, of course, but the food there was nothing compared to this. 

Even after all the beautiful meals he had been served as he was training for the Games, he still had not gotten used to it. Charles didn't look quite as impressed, and Erik had to remind himself the other man was probably more used to this sort of thing. He didn't just come from a well-to-do family, he came from a well-to-do family in District 1. That was about as close to the Capital as one could get. 

"The Capital does like to like to lavish its victors," Charles says, as though he knows Erik's thoughts. He absently mindedly grabs a roll of bread to pick at it as he goes to sit on the bed.

Erik grabs one of the sandwiches, leaning back against the table to eat it as he watches Charles in concern. "I made a promise to Raven, you know," he says. "I'll make sure you get to see them again." 

"I'd like you to meet them," Charles says, though he sounds somewhat hesitant. "Raven liked you, you know. I could tell." 

Erik snorts. "How did you get that impression?" he asks. 

Charles grins mischievously. "Well, you're still alive," he says. 

"There is that," Erik says. "I think you understated the matter slightly when you called her overprotective." 

Charles laughs, turning the roll in his hands more than actually eating it, and Erik frowns as he notices the red mark on the inside of his left arm. 

"Is that from the contraceptive?" Erik asks, attempting to sound casual. 

Charles nods. "Yes," he says, "I didn't mean to blurt it out. I'm usually very good with secrets, but not around the people I trust, so it kind of just came out. I was going to tell you in private." 

Erik frowns, setting his half eaten sandwich aside. Ideally, omega tributes were supposed to be pregnant by the end of the victory tour, so they could announce the child upon their return to the alpha's home. They were in enough trouble already without breaking more traditions. 

"Charles, that's not usually a decision the Capital lets us make," he says, as gently as he can. 

"This world is no place for children," Charles says, looking up. "Not yet."

"We're technically citizens of the Capital now, any children of ours will be exempt from the Games," Erik protests. 

"They would still have to watch it. What's worse is they'll be surrounded by those that enjoy it," Charles replies evenly. "And it's what Stryker wants, which is reason enough not to do it. He'd use any child we have against us." 

"You talk like this is temporary, but the world isn't going to change," Erik says, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "We still have to live our lives." 

"Why shouldn't it change?" Charles asks. 

"Because it isn't that easy!" Erik says. "And Stryker will get suspicious if we don't have children, he'll probably pull us both in for testing, and if they find that—" 

"If that happens, I will take it out before I'm examined," Charles says firmly. "But it's given us some breathing room, and I have no intention of having children just to appease Stryker." 

Charles stands and sets the mostly uneaten bread on the table, before pulling his arms around himself. "It's a temporary solution, I know that," Charles says. "It's bought us a year at most, but it's a year that we need. We're not ready for a child, Erik. We don't even know what to do with ourselves." 

Erik wants to continue to argue, but he can't exactly fault Charles' logic. He knows it's no rational part of him that wants to protest—what had Raven called it? His alpha-y spread the genes instincts. He stamps down on them hard, locking them away with all the rest.

"You're right," Erik says after a moment. "But you're also right that it's only a temporary solution." 

"I know, and I know I'm difficult," Charles says, glancing over at him. "I'm sorry if I'm not what you expected." 

"I'm not," Erik says, reaching out to grab Charles' arm and tug him close. "Besides, if you'd been anything less than what you are, I'd be dead." 

"I don't know, I would have put my money on you," Charles tells him. "I bet you'd have pulled through." 

"I guess we're both survivors," Erik agrees. 

"We've had to be," Charles says. "But someday, things will be different." 

"You really believe that?" Erik asks. 

"We found each other, didn't we?" Charles asks, reaching up to pull him down for a kiss. 

Erik gently reaches up to grasp his hands, and pull them down between them. He tugs himself away from the kiss, feeling dizzy with Charles' scent. His heart is pounding and it's hard to think, but Erik knows he needs to stop this now, because he might not be able to if it goes any further. 

"Charles, stop, please, it's okay, we don't have to do this," Erik tells him. 

Charles pauses, watching Erik in confusion for a moment before it clicks. Erik is offering him an out, and while it would only be another temporary solution, Charles hadn't expected it, even from Erik. The urge to claim their mate is one of an alpha's strongest instincts, and the hardest one to ignore. 

Erik is offering anyway, whatever it's costing him; he's giving him the choice, just like he always has. Erik would stand by him whatever he chose so they could face what came together. Charles wonders if all those people that had watched them fighting for their lives had any clue just how strong Erik really was, considering the lengths he went to in order to hide it. 

But the Capital has taken so much from them both—and this is theirs. Charles won't let them take this too. 

"I want to," Charles says. "Don't you?" 

"Yes. God, yes, of course, but—" Erik says, his voice going low, and Charles glances up at him with a grin. Charles grabs Erik's jacket, gently tugging it off his shoulders, before stepping back, and unbuttoning his own waistcoat and shirt. 

He lets them both slip from his shoulders, pushing out of his shoes at the same time. Erik watches for a moment, eyes taking him in, before he comes back to his senses and starts unbuttoning his own shirt. He throws them to the side and the stalks closer to Charles, who is unbuttoning his pants. Erik reaches out, tumbling them both onto the bed, before helping Charles by grabbing the pants and his underwear and tugging them down at once. 

Charles reaches out, deftly unbuttoning Erik's pants, and Erik helps him push them down absently, as he runs his free hand down Charles' chest. Erik moves over Charles as they finally get rid of the rest of their clothes, running his hands up along his sides. All traces of their time in the Games are now gone, erased by the Capital. 

"You're perfect," he says, because it's the only word he knows that comes close to describing him; perfect, impossible. There are no better words for this. 

Erik slips one of his hands beneath Charles' thighs, pressing them gently against his hole. He can already feel the preparatory slick, and he slips one finger inside. Charles breath hitches, and he reaches out to clutch the sheets. 

Erik stretches him slowly, adding another finger and then a third. The slick is coating Charles' entrance now, and the scent of it is like some sort of drug. Erik's vision sharpens as his pupils dilate and the world is suddenly brighter—Charles' eyes become so blue he doesn't even seem real. 

He's so far gone he almost doesn't notice when Charles goes completely still beneath him. Erik releases him abruptly, pushing himself off him to lie down on the bed beside him. Erik's breath catches and nearly stalls, he's so horrified by the fear he'd seen flash through Charles' eyes. He wonders how many alphas had held Charles down like that in the arena—Cain, Victor, Mortimer. Erik doesn't want his name tacked onto the end of the list, no matter that Charles initiated it. 

"Why are we stopping?" Charles asks, turning to look at him. 

"Because this is too soon," Erik says. "It's okay." 

"I'm fine," Charles insists, sitting up to glare at him. 

Erik sits up beside him and grabs his wrist, holding out his hand. They both watched as it trembled in his grip, and Erik releases him, his point made. "You're shaking," he says gently. "It doesn't have to be tonight, Charles. I can wait." 

"I can't," Charles says. "I'm not scared of you, Erik." 

"That doesn't mean you're ready," Erik says. 

"I don't think you can be ready, not for something like this. I went into the arena prepared to be raped, beat down, even killed," he says, pressing Erik slowly back onto the bed, before dropping down to straddle him. "The one thing I hadn't counted on was you." 

Charles reaches under himself and then coats Erik's cock with his slick, gently tugging it to hardness. Erik feels his blood singing under his skin, threatening to break him apart. He reaches out to hold Charles' hips, using the contact to ground himself and focus on Charles' words. 

"Angel called you my true match," Charles tells him. "I suspect now she was just talking strategy, but it's the only thing that makes any sense. You're my true match, Erik." 

Charles lifts himself up, gripping the base of Erik's cock to lower himself down. Erik fights the urge to buck up as Charles sinks down over the tip, and starts lowering himself slowly, inch by inch. Charles gasps, resting his hands on Erik's chest as he pushes himself the rest of the way down. Charles stays like that for a moment, and both of them are past words. 

Then Charles starts moving. Erik holds himself still even as the urge to grab hold of Charles and flip them over is thrumming through his every vein. He lets Charles set the pace, excruciatingly slow as it is, and he feels dizzy with some kind of exquisite disbelief—it's as though he's being unraveled, pulled apart piece by piece and sewn back together as something else. Something new. 

He's becoming a part of something larger, and he has his suspicions that until this moment he's never been truly whole. It's terrifying and it's perfect, and as he comes with a cry, he reaches out to drag Charles down for another kiss. Charles follows a moment later, coming with a whimper that Erik pulls into their kiss. Charles falls limply across his chest after they pull apart, shuddering slightly from the aftershocks. Erik places a kiss on his hair as he runs a hand up and down his spine. 

Charles had been right. There was no preparing for this. He feels aware of Charles in a way that he's never felt for anyone else—he can hear his heartbeat as loud as his own, can track the slide of the blood beneath his skin, or trace the fine lines of his bones. He feels like he's been dreaming all his life, and Charles is the first real thing he's ever seen. 

"I never thought it could be like this," Erik confesses, and for the first time, he's so selfishly grateful that his name had been chosen for the Games. 

It brought him to Charles, and for that he will never regret it.

Charles lets out a shaky breath that's nearly a laugh. "I don't think it's supposed to be," he says, shifting to rest his head on Erik's shoulder, as Erik wraps his arms around him to hold him close. 

"We'll have to change that," Erik tells him. 

"Yes," Charles agrees. "We will."

* * * * *

Waking up to Angel pounding on the door and yelling, "You've got fifteen minutes!" wasn't exactly the way Erik had wanted to start the morning after his wedding, but the sight of the sleeping figure in his arms more than makes up for his rude awakening. 

Charles doesn't appear to have heard Angel. Charles had woken at the slightest noise within the arena, so Erik hadn't expected him to be such a sound sleeper. It's strange to see him with his defenses all down—when awake, Charles never seems to stop thinking. He's always planning his next move. 

"Charles," Erik says, shaking him gently. "We have to get ready." 

Charles sits up reluctantly, rubbing at his eyes, and Erik has to bite his lip to keep from saying something like 'you're adorable.' He's fairly certain Charles would not appreciate it. "I can't remember the last time I slept that well," Charles says. 

"Are you feeling okay?" Erik asks him, looking him over carefully. "I didn't hurt you?" 

Charles places a hand on his arm. "I'm fine," he says. 

Erik reaches out to grab his hand, and touching Charles' feels different now. Before, it had been like trying to hold onto lightening, some weird kind of electrical shock—now it's more of a comforting pulse, soft as condensed sunlight.

Erik looks up, startled, when Charles lightly squeezes his hand to find the other man watching him in concern. "Are _you_ alright?" Charles asks softly. 

"Yes," Erik says, raising Charles' hand to his lips to kiss it like some old gallant. Charles arches in eyebrow in disbelief, but doesn't stop him. "Just having trouble believing any of this is real, I guess. It's all happening so fast, sometimes I still feel like I'm in the arena."

"Ten minutes!" Angel shouts through the door. 

Charles turns to glance out the window, recognizing the snow capped mountains rushing past as the view from home. They were definitely nearing District 1. "I think it's going to be like that for awhile," Charles says. The victory tour will consist of them being shuffled one place to another, with very little time to stop in between. 

Then they'll be returned to the Capital and given a home. Charles is trying not to think about having to live there. 

"Come on," Erik says, getting up and pulling Charles with him. "I don't know about you, but I don't want Angel to storm in here in ten minutes and find us like this." 

Charles lets Erik usher him to the shower, hoping as he does that Raven is alright. Erik turns on the water, pulling Charles up against him. Charles laughs. "Is this a good idea?" he asks. "We're on a timetable, you know." 

"I can control myself, I'll have you know," Erik whispers. "Showering together will save time." 

"I thought alphas were supposed to be insatiable," Charles says, grabbing some of the shampoo and pouring it into his hand. He yelps when Erik pulls him back against him, catching the bottle before it can crash to the ground. 

"Oh, I am," Erik promises. "But you've always been worth the wait, and we have forever." 

Charles laughs. "I suppose we can wait until tonight," he agrees. "Raven would be very upset with Angel if she kills us for being late." 

Charles finishes showering quickly, exiting the shower to let Erik move under the spray to wash his hair. He opens the closet in their room, and finds it filled with clothes—one side for Erik, and one for him. Charles frowns at most of his choices, before settling for a pair of tight dark brown pants that he tucks into a pair of boots, and a white dress shirt he steals from Erik's side. 

"Five minutes, guys!" Angel shouts, as Erik moves to join him at the closet. 

Charles spots something on one of the hangers and grins. "Oh, hey, would you look at this?" he asks, pulling on a pale blue cardigan in satisfaction. "This is nice." 

"No," Erik says firmly, tugging it right back off him and grabbing a beautifully lined dark blue pea coat instead. 

Charles glares at him, but takes it. "I liked that," he says, watching forlornly as Erik tosses it aside. Charles reluctantly puts on the coat, as Erik dresses in a dark grey suit. 

"I'm pretty sure it was put in there by mistake," Erik tells him. "It looks like something your sister might wear in her old woman disguise." 

Charles glares up at him, about to protest, when Angel opens the door. "It's time," she says, glancing at the way they've dressed in approval. "There's going to be lots of cameras, so don't forget to smile." 

Erik and Charles walk into the hall, and they see a beautiful young blonde girl in a blue ruffle dress, standing across from them in the next car. She tosses them a wink before she disappears off the train. 

"Was that—?" Erik starts, turning to Charles in disbelief. 

"My sister, yes. She cleans up alright, I guess," Charles tells him. 

Erik laughs and turns to look out the doors. He can see the crowds waiting below, almost as colorful as those in the Capital. District 1 is far more polished than District 12, and he wonders how Charles grew up with all this, without ever letting the glamour blind him. 

"You ready for this?" Charles asks, turning to look up at him. 

"After what we've been through?" Erik says. "This is nothing." 

They step out of the train, and the gathered crowd goes wild, shouting and waving and screaming. Charles and Erik join hands, smiling down at them, so perfectly practiced they both look entirely sincere. 

It was time for the real games to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end, folks! I didn't want to throw in a quick last minute rebellion there at the end, so I left it kind of open instead (I'm definitely still considering writing a sequel, just need to find the time, since writing this one kind of took over my life). Also, sorry for the kind of strange and strangely awkward sex scene! It was my first attempt at a/o sex, and you might have noticed I ignored a lot of the usual a/o stuff to try and ease myself into the trope. Hope you all enjoyed it anyway!


End file.
